


Swear This One You'll Save

by speakpirate



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Emison - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Post-Time Jump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:33:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 108,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’re acting like it’s starting again,” Ali protests.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Emily takes off her sunglasses and meets Alison’s eyes.  “You really believe that it isn’t?” </i>
</p><p>A story about the Liars post-time jump.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When in Rosewood

**Author's Note:**

> _This story is me imagining the version of 6B that I would most like to see, and then writing it._
> 
> _Since I can not actually write in a fuzzy light instagram filter, the flashbacks for this story are rendered in italics._

Emily is sitting in her car, which is parked a discreet distance down the block from the DiLaurentis - scratch that - the Rollins house. She’s steeling herself to get out of the car, knock on the door. She tries to break these tasks down into their smallest component parts - unlocking her door, putting her feet on the pavement, walking down the sidewalk and up the front steps. It still seems like a lot of effort though, even though she knows that most of the effort will be about forcing herself to smile in a way that isn’t too obviously a lie, performing her best imitation of someone whose heart is completely indifferent to Alison DiLaurentis - scratch that - Rollins. The sort of person who did not feel herself shatter at the news of Alison’s spur of the moment courthouse wedding. Who has not spent the past few years serially dating a string of fashionable blondes. Who is not still sitting in her car getting more pathetic by the minute. 

Emily steels herself. She is a 23 year old woman. She is successful and confident and above all NOT still in love with a woman who has been leading her on since she was fourteen years old. She would like to get this over before everyone else arrives. It’s going to be hard enough seeing Alison for the first time in three years, the first time since their break up, since Ali’s marriage, without having a captivated audience of her best friends in tow.

She checks her make up in the mirror, puts on a fresh coat of lipstick. Emily grabs a giant pair of sunglasses from her purse and puts them on. She has to see Alison, but she’s not about to let Alison see her eyes. She’s not a rookie, after all. She opens the door, slides her long tanned legs out of the car, and strides up to the Rollins’ front door like a woman who is not afraid of anything.

Alison opens the door before Emily has a chance to knock. As if she’s been waiting. As if she’s been watching out the window for Emily to arrive. As if she has some leftover spidey sense that alerts her when Emily is in the area. Fuck that, Emily thinks to herself. Ali is not magic. She probably just has a security camera.

But now Alison is standing in front of her with a half smile on her face, looking so good that it almost seems like magic. The sight of her can still make Emily feel all fourteen and first kiss and seventeen and fight-or-flight and nineteen making love until the sun comes up, even while every alarm bell in her head clangs out a warning, tries to throw up a giant stone wall around her feelings that Alison won’t be able to ride over, red warning flags fluttering in her wake.

“Em,” Alison says, and her voice still sounds so tender around that syllable. She may have heard it too, because she straightens up a bit, correcting herself. “Emily. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Emily adopts one of her tough tones. The kind she would use to train a weak swimmer. “I came because you said you needed all of us, Alison.” Not that Alison had said any such thing to her. It was Spencer who said Alison needed all of them. Spencer, who called Emily more than Alison these past few years, but only because Alison hadn’t called at all. Still, there was something so familiar in the way Spencer had said it. Two parts command, one part plea. The voice a general probably uses to muster the front line, the cannon fodder.

Alison nods, biting her lip a bit, as if she accepts Emily’s brusque anger. “Come in,” she says, opening the door a bit further. “You’re the first one here.”

As she’s walking into the house, the sunlight catches the wedding ring on Ali’s left hand. And just like that, she’s hit with a memory so intense it almost takes her breath away.

\---  
_  
She and Alison were walking down the street of a beach town in Costa Rica, the last day of a summer spent building houses with Habitat. They were holding hands and looking at each other in that way lovers have that shuts out everything else in the world._

_“You know,” Emily said, “The old Alison DiLaurentis would have balked at spending the summer months sleeping in a tent under a web of mosquito netting.”_

_“The cots are awful,” Alison agreed. “Prison beds were more comfortable,” she said with a smile. “But I would sleep on a patch of poison ivy if it meant I got to sleep next to you.”_

_Alison had been at her most relaxed, her most charming all summer. Everyone on the work crew loved her, and she had jumped right in drilling and hauling lumber and hammering with no complaints._

_“Plus, I wanted us to spend the summer together. And, you know, I’ve heard the stories about Haiti,” Alison continued._

_“How could there be any stories? I was the only one from Rosewood who was even there.”_

_“I believe Hanna’s exact words were, ‘Emily building houses brings all the girls to the yard.’”_

_Emily blushed. “Hanna exaggerates.”_

_“Please,” Alison said, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend’s waist. “Have you seen the way women look at you when you wear that toolbelt?”_

_Emily smiled shyly, in a way that made Alison beam back at her, looking for all the world like her heart might actually burst with happiness. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Emily murmured._

_Alison kissed her goofily, on the side of her head, and Emily in that moment felt the full force of Ali’s affection, the sum of all the nights she spent sitting extra close to Emily at the bonfires, casually resting a hand on her knee, the times she buried her face in Emily’s neck while she laughed._

_As if Ali could read her mind, she cut into Emily’s thoughts. “I hope they’ve seen it, too. Or heard the noises coming out of our tent every night. I need to put those bitches on notice. Emily Fields is mine.”_  
  
\------

“Emily, are you okay?” Alison is asking, jerking Emily back to the present moment, in which she is most certainly not Alison’s, as she pulls her eyes away from the wedding ring on her ex-girlfriend’s finger. She probably should not stare at Ali’s ring, or at Ali’s fingers in general. Thank god, Emily thinks, for sunglasses.

“Fine,” Emily answers, relieved beyond words at the sound of the doorbell. Moments later, Hanna Marin breezes into the room, more gorgeous than she's ever looked before. Her hair is perfect, her hips are fuller, her skin looks luminous, and she’s wearing a fabulous white and gold wrap dress. Her arms, however, are determinedly folded across her chest. 

“Figures you’d be the first one here,” Hanna says to Emily. “You’ve got crappy self-preservation instincts. But whatever, I am really happy to see you.” She pulls Emily into a tight hug.

Moments later, the door opens and Spencer and Aria let themselves in. Emily barely has time to take in Spencer’s bangs, Aria’s more subdued fashion, as she’s engulfed in round of warm hugs, during which Emily manages to avoid Alison without being obvious about it. She hopes.

Spencer sits down, looking super tense. Then again, maybe Spencer was always that tense, and it’s just having not seen her for a few years that makes it noticeable again. Still, Emily can’t get over the feeling that Spencer is not quite meeting her eyes. Maybe she feels guilty about dragging Emily into this. Warranted.

“Is Caleb with you?” Spencer asks Hanna.

“He’s at the hotel,” Hanna answers with a wave of her hand. “He didn’t exactly love the idea of coming back here.”

Aria looks over at Emily. “How’s your Dad, Em?”

“He’s doing better,” Emily answers. “My mom still talks about those flowers you sent. They were so beautiful.”

“Does anyone want anything?” Alison asks nervously. “Soda? Lemonade? Water?”

Emily shakes her head, but Hanna wants water and Aria requests lemonade. Spencer jumps up to help Alison with the drinks.

“How weird is this?” Hanna asks, after they’ve left the room.

“Weird.” Emily agrees.

“Weird to the power of 11,” Aria confirms. “Was Spencer always this jittery?”

“Yes,” Hanna says.

“No,” Emily answers at the exact same time. “I think she’s taking the whole line about she and Alison being like sisters to heart.”

“Wait, how are they sisters?” Aria asks, confused.

“They’re not,” Hanna rolls her eyes. “They’re both sisters with Jason.”

“Oh, right,” Aria nods.

“Seriously, though,” Emily continues. “Does Spencer still call you guys all the time? Because I’ve barely heard from her since - “ Emily cuts herself off, not wanting to mention the break up, even casually. “For the past few years.”

“I hear from her all the time,” Aria offers. “But she hardly ever talks about what’s going on with her.”

Hanna shakes her head. “We don’t talk much anymore.”

\---  
_  
Hanna was standing in a hospital corridor that smelled like bleach and despair. Thirty six hours ago, she and Emily had been splitting a giant order of Indian food at one of her favorite hole in the wall restaurants in New York when Emily’s phone lit up and her face went completely white._

_Hanna’s first thought, still, after all this time, was ‘A’. If only it had been, she thought afterwards._

_“It’s my dad,” Emily gasped, shakily. “A massive heart attack.” Hanna grabbed her purse, got them into a cab, and texted Caleb to tell him to book two seats for them on the next flight to Texas. After everything Emily had been through this year, there was no way Hanna was going to let her go through this alone._

_That was a day and a half, two airports, a long plane ride, and thirteen hours of surgery ago._

_Emily and her mom had rushed into the recovery room the moment her dad was finally awake, and Hanna was hanging back near the waiting room, furiously dialing Spencer._

_“Hello,” Spencer answered sleepily. It was after 10am in DC, even if it was a Saturday. But Hanna was too mad to ponder the mystery of Spencer sleeping in._

_“Emily’s dad has a major heart attack, and you can’t even pick up the phone and call? Seriously, Spencer? Aria managed to send flowers from a photoshoot in Istanbul, but you can’t even manage to send a text that says you hope he’s doing okay?”_

_“Hanna, I get it. You’re a really good friend, you dropped everything and went down there, but - “_

_“No buts, Spencer. I don’t know what is going on with you and Alison and the Sisterhood of the Crazypants, and honestly, I don’t care. If you didn’t want to take sides when they broke up, that’s up to you. If you don’t mind Alison being a toxic mess of a person, if you think it’s totally fine that she stomped all over Emily’s heart, just because the two of you share DNA with Jason, that’s your call. But this is Emily we’re talking about. Emily. Who has only ever been kind and loyal and decent to you. And her dad almost died, Spencer.”_

_“It’s not about Alison,” Spencer tried to interject. “It’s more complicated -”_

_“Fuck complicated, okay, Spencer?” Hanna says, on a tear. “It was one thing for you to be MIA when Emily was trying to piece herself back together last year. It was another thing to be radio silent when Alison got married. But this, right now - after everything we’ve been through - this is not how friends behave.”_

_“Hanna, I’m sorry, I -”_

_“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, Spencer! But I will tell you this right now, if you’re going to keep up this bullshit of not calling Emily, then don’t bother calling me.”_

_Hanna hung up, still furious. Right at the end, it had sounded almost like Spencer was crying._  
  
\----

Spencer and Ali come back in laden with drinks. Alison hands Emily an iced tea that she did not ask for, which might be an innocuous and hospitable gesture, or might also be a subtle way of asserting that she knows what Emily wants better than Emily herself does. Emily sets the drink down next to her without taking a sip.

Once everyone is back in the living room and sitting down, Aria leans forward and asks the question everyone is wondering about. “What’s going on, Ali? Why the all hands on deck SOS?”

Alison takes a deep breath and looks at each of them in turn. “It’s Charlotte. Cece. She’s missing.”


	2. I Can't Stand to See You Walk Away From Me

"It's Charlotte. Cece. She's missing." 

“What do you mean, missing?” Hanna asks. “What happened to the actually secure secure psychiatric treatment facility?”

“I don’t know,” Alison admits, wide-eyed. “She’s been in treatment for the past five years. She’s doing so much better. I don’t think she escaped. I think she’s been kidnapped.”

“Why would you think that?” Spencer asks. “I mean, she had an all access enter and exit pass to Radley, right?”

“But she’s different, now,” Ali insists. “She’s on new meds, and we have family therapy twice a month, and she might be able to live on her own someday, or maybe with me, under supervision, but she knows that all goes away if she does something like this.”

“What do the police think?” Emily asks.

“That’s the thing,” Alison interjects. “I haven’t told them.”

A chorus of four disbelieving voices saying, “What?” greets this announcement.

“Listen, they were completely useless on this last time around, remember? How can I not expect them to haul me off to jail for helping her escape or something?” Ali pleads.

“Did you help her escape?” Spencer asks, point blank.

“Of course not!” Alison protests. “The hospital called me, and my first instinct was to get all of you here. She wouldn’t start the game up again, I know she wouldn’t, but if someone took her, they might use what she knows about us to target us again.”

“Well, way to help them out getting us all in one place,” Hanna mutters. “But what is it that you want us to do?”

“Help me find her,” Alison pleads. “Investigate. Figure out what happened.”

“Help you find our escaped stalker, who terrorized us, kidnapped us, and basically played with us like little cat toys?” Aria clarifies. “Because Ali, I love you, but I vote no on this plan.”

“Okay then,” Alison counters. “Let’s say maybe Spencer is right and she escaped. Wouldn’t you rather find her than have her find you?”

Hanna has taken a deep breath and is about to lay into Alison again, when Emily puts a hand on her knee. Even after everything, there is always going to be a part of her that wants to protect Alison, even though the rational part of her brain insists she herself is in real need of protection from her.

“You were right to call us, Alison.” The other girls turn to Emily in disbelief. “She’s right, isn’t she? The last time Charlotte was out, she did terrible things to us all. But if we learned anything, it’s that we can only survive if we stick together.”

“All of us?” Alison asks, her voice a little softer, as if she’s afraid of Emily’s answer.

“All of us,” Spencer confirms, looking directly at Emily for the first time since they arrived. “And we have to be smarter about it this time around. No one goes out alone after dark, no one goes out alone at all, if we can help it. We carry pepper spray. We warn everyone we love who might be in danger.”

“You’re acting like it’s starting again,” Ali protests.

Emily takes off her sunglasses and meets Alison’s eyes. “You really believe that it isn’t?” 

Her question hangs in the air, as they all ponder what it might mean. Whether the other shoe has really dropped this time, like they’ve all been half-expecting during these five years of not peace, but at least quiet.

“We’re going to need a list,” Spencer announces, pulling a notepad out of her bag. “Aria, you and I can go stock up on cameras and electronic gear. You probably remember the kind of surveillance equipment Fitz used to have as well as I do.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Aria grins.

“Emily, you and Hanna hit the self-protection angle. Whatever seems like it could help.”

“You got it,” Emily agrees.

“What about me,” Alison asks.

“You stay here, and stay available, alright? In case she tries to make contact.”

Ali nods, “I can’t thank you all enough for coming back.”

“Save the thanks until after we don’t get killed,” Hanna suggests. “It’s 3:30 now. Let’s get cracking on this list tonight, and we can meet back here to start the investigative phase tomorrow morning”

“The investigative phase?” Emily smiles. In a weird way, this does feel almost good, so much like old times.

“Please,” Hanna says. “Like I’ve never seen a Spencer list before? This is not my first rodeo.” 

“Are you okay here, tonight?” Spencer asks Alison.

“Of course,” Alison answers smoothly. “We have a top of the line security system, and - “ she has the grace to hesitate, to look almost embarrassed, “my husband should be home soon.”

“How much does he know?” Aria asks.

“I haven’t told him anything,” Alison admits. “When the hospital called, they said she’d been signed out by a family member, and I lied and told them we had a family situation and she was going to be staying out longer than anticipated. But he’s her psychiatrist, so he won’t be in the dark for long.”

Emily shakes her head at this little glimpse into Alison’s marriage. Of course it would be a patchwork of half-truths and escaped sociopaths. How could she have ever imagined it would be any different? Still, a small voice in her head answers, it could have been different. Emily shuts down this line of thinking as soon as she recognizes it. It’s like a fever, she thinks, that she can’t let come back.

“Alright, let’s roll,” Emily suggests, wanting to get out of there. 

As they’re leaving, as Emily has one foot on the top step off the porch, Alison is suddenly right behind her, touching her hand. Emily jolts away, as if she’s been burned.

“Sorry,” Alison says, having the nerve to sound a little hurt. “It’s just, I wanted to say - it’s good to see you, Em.” Nerve on top of nerve, which really has always been Alison’s style, she gives Emily a quick look up and down, presumably taking in her tight jeans, her leather jacket. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” Emily says, putting her sunglasses back on. “Nice ring.” And she jogs down the steps without a backward glance, unlocking her car so Hanna can hop in, and just like that, she drives away.

If Alison watches her car until it’s out of sight, or if she doesn’t, Emily doesn’t want to know.


	3. Roadhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As I can't actually write in fuzzy instagram filter light, flashbacks in this story are rendered in italics._
> 
> **Because this story was written after the 6a finale but before we had any idea of what Dr. Rollins would look like, the Rollins in this story is much older than he wound up being on the show. Probably other things about him will wind up being different, too, but this version is about what I imagined he would be like back when he was just a name on a chalkboard.**  
>   

The four of them, sans Alison, meet up for dinner at the seedy roadhouse a few miles out of town. 

“I don’t think anything here is vegan,” Aria laments. “Like, even this menu is made from the skins of animals.”

“The Brew is too public,” Spencer says, opening a bag and doling out burner phones.

“How’d you pick this place?” Emily asks. “I can’t believe it’s still in business.” She has a momentary flash of Paige McCullers sitting across from her, talking about how Emily liked bold women. Bold, Emily thinks, is actually one of the nicest words she can think of for Alison.

“Yelp,” Spencer answers.

Emily digs in her own bag of tricks and pulls out some small non-descript gray canvas backpacks. “These should be good for now. Maglites, first aid supplies, pepper spray, and a few extra surprises.”

Spencer opens one and nods approvingly. “Good job,” she says.

A bored waitress takes their order--Aria settles on a salad, Hanna orders what seems like every fried food on offer--and as soon as she’s out of hearing range, Spencer dives right in. “So let’s get into it. Does anyone believe Ali’s version of events? That Charlotte was kidnapped?”

No one says a word.

“Alright, I’m taking that as a no,” Spencer continues. “Do we think Ali knows more than she’s saying?”

“This is Alison, Spence.” Emily reminds her, “She always knows more than she’s saying.”

“But is she in on it?” Hanna asks. “I’m not her biggest fan, but she seemed genuinely spooked.”

“But why did she call us all back here?” Aria asks. “I mean, it’s not like our investigative prowess is what brought Charlotte down the first time. Let’s face it, we basically spent two years playing blind man’s bluff and never got close to figuring out who ‘A’ was.”

“I have a bad feeling that we’re either the bait or the switch,” Emily suggests. 

“We have to assume that we’re being watched again,” Spencer implores. “Hanna, when was the last time you were in contact with Mona?”

“Mona?” Hanna says, surprised. “You’re not seriously suggesting that she’s behind this, are you?”

“No,” Spencer says. “But she might have the inside scoop on what’s been going on with Alison. Or she might still have access to the Carasimi servers, and there might be something there we could use. I’m putting her in the ally column, for now.”

“I’ll try to get ahold of her,” Hanna agrees.

“What do we know about Alison’s husband?” Aria asks. “Have any of you ever met him?”

Hanna and Emily shake their heads, but Spencer nods.

“I met him before they got married. He’s one of the doctors in Wren’s practice.”

“He’s Wren’s partner? Of course he is. McShady and McSketchy.” Hanna declares.

Spencer pulls up a picture on her phone. Emily looks in spite of herself. Dr. Rollins is older, tall and distinguished looking, with salt and pepper hair and a charming smile.

“He looks so fatherly,” Aria says.

“Like, sixty is the new forty? Grandfatherly,” Hanna counters.

“Perverted unclely - is that a look?” Emily asks, and they all laugh nervously. Mostly she wants to hate him, but she also has a kind of fellow feeling for him. A feeling best described as God Help Anyone Who Loves Ali. And maybe he does. 

“He took over as Charlotte’s main psychiatrist a few years ago,” Spencer explains. “ He was Ali’s therapist, too, kind of. They all did family therapy together, and I’d bet some one on one sessions as well.”

Aria is aghast. “I knew he was a shrink, but he was her shrink? That is so messed up.”

“This from the girl who dated Ezra. Like, when he was our teacher. And also our stalker,” Spencer says, amused.

“I know!” Aria agrees. “So if I think it’s messed up, it must be pretty bad.”

Their food comes quickly enough, and Spencer continues her instructions as they eat.

“Hanna, do you think you can ask Caleb to see what he can find out about Rollins? Hack anything that needs to be hacked, etc?”

“Why don’t you ask me yourself, Spencer?” Caleb’s voice surprises them all, and Hanna--even though they’ve been married for almost four years now--lights up when she sees him.

Emily notices that Spencer is frowning at him, even while Hanna is still grinning and pushing a plate of chilli cheese fries in his direction.

“I thought you were watching the house,” Spencer says, her voice almost a growl.

“It’s under control, Spence,” Caleb responds, a bit coldly.

“No more solo missions this time,” Spencer reminds everyone.

“Well, he’s not on a solo mission now, he’s here with us, right?” Hanna asks. “Also, why are you sending him off to watch who’s house?”

“Alison’s,” Caleb answers, stuffing several fries at once into his mouth. “Anyway, I can dig into Rollins and Wren as much as you like. Hopefully I’ll have a full file worked up by tomorrow. But I don’t like any of this. If it were up to me, I would cut ties.”

“Wait, what do you mean, cut ties?” Hanna asks.

“I mean leave,” Caleb answers. “Get out of here. Go back to our lives in New York and DC and Boston and say no thank you to the latest round of Alison’s games.”

“She needs us,” Spencer says, adamantly.

“She needs you for what? To find her sister? She could hire a private investigator. She could hire a hundred private investigators. She needs you to be bait, or she needs you to be targets. Hanna, think about that for a minute. That’s not friendship. That’s lunacy.” Caleb puts his hand over Hanna’s, with a hard to read look in his eyes.

“I hear what you’re saying, okay?” Hanna answers. “And I don’t know what it means that Charlotte is out there again. None of us do. But the only way we made it through last time was by sticking together.”

“All I can do is ask you to think about what’s at stake, Hanna. You don’t need this kind of stress.”

Hanna waves an onion ring at him. “Do you seriously think I would be less stressed sitting at home with my feet up while my best friends are in danger? Because I wouldn’t. And if you don’t want me to be stressed, maybe you should stop arguing with me.”

Caleb sighs. “You’re right, I’m sorry. What’s the plan?”

“We’re just about done here,” Spencer informs him. “Tomorrow we’ll work up a suspect list, maybe get Alison to take us to New Directions - that’s the facility that Charlotte went missing from - see if we can pick up any information on that end of the trail.”

“Are you staying at your parents’ house?” Emily asks Spencer. It feels weird that she doesn’t know, but New Spencer is still an enigma.

“They’re in town even less now than when I was in high school,” Spencer replies. “Melissa and Wren bought the house from them. And they’re redecorating the upstairs, so it wouldn’t be convenient.”

“Did Melissa say that?” Aria asks. “Because that’s incredibly lame, even for her.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not exactly eager to be their house guest,” Spencer assures her. “We’re at the Rosewood Grand.”

“We?” Hanna asks. “You’re not back with Toby, are you?”

“No,” Spencer replies, her eyes on her plate. “We as in, you and Caleb are there, too, right?”

“Me too,” Emily adds. “My mom sold the house after graduation.”

“Well, don’t I feel like the odd woman out,” Aria laughs. “My dad is on sabbatical again, in Amsterdam. But I’m at least going to stay in my old house while I’m here. Any of you guys are welcome to join me. It’s not as fancy as the Grand, but it is free.”

“I might take you up on that, actually.” Emily says, considering. “Depending on how long it looks like we might be sticking around.”

“Speaking of sticking around, I am ready to get out of this restaurant,” Hanna announces. “It’s been a long day, and I’m beat.”

“It’s barely eight o’clock,” Aria tells her.

“I got up early,” Hanna says. Caleb reaches for his wallet, but Spencer grabs the check and waves him off. 

“You guys go, I’ve got his,” she assures them.

Once Caleb and Hanna depart, Spencer orders a round of pie and coffee. Decaf for everyone but herself.

“Are you okay, Spencer?” Emily asks, concerned. “I know we haven’t been exactly close lately, but -”

“I’m fine,” Spencer replies, shortly. “Everything’s fine. Thanks, though.”

“Okay, why are you giving Caleb orders, though?” Aria persists. “And do you have some new guy stashed away at the hotel or something? I mean, I may be Suzy Clueless, but even I can tell that there’s something you’re not telling us.”

“I didn’t give Caleb orders, he wanted to help.” Spencer says, swirling apple filling on her plate. “And there’s no new guy stashed at the hotel, I swear.”

“You’re not on drugs again, are you?” Emily asks, still not convinced, “Because we need you a lot, okay? We need you focused.”

“I am focused,” Spencer assures her. “Anyway, what about you, Aria? How are things with the saxophone player?”

Aria makes a face. “We broke up. He was getting too serious for me. More power to Hanna and Alison, I guess - but the idea of marriage still seems so weird to me. I just can’t imagine it.”

“Maybe it’s different when you meet the right person,” Spencer suggests, throwing Emily into another tailspin of memory.

\---  
_  
“Emily Fields is mine,” Alison had said, tugging Emily towards the marketplace ahead. Some things never changed, and Ali’s love of shopping was insatiable, no matter the setting._

_They browsed through stalls of pottery, colorful hammocks and bags, sampling endless varieties of fruit that were for sale, laughing when they tasted too sweet or too bitter to be pleasant._

_Alison stopped at a table full of delicate silver jewelry, looking over the selection as she ran a hand over some dangling necklaces. She gasped when she spotted the beautiful silver rings, with streaks of turquoise drawn into the delicate metal. They weren’t exactly the same, but they nestled against each other so well that they were clearly part of a matched set._

_Emily reached for them at exactly the same time that Ali did, their fingers collided as they touched the smooth metal. Alison smiled at Emily, and there was a shyness to it that made Emily’s heart contract. They locked eyes, and Emily felt light headed with the certainty that Alison’s thoughts were a mirror of her own. This was what forever felt like, what it felt like to be with the person you were meant to find._  
  
\---

It is this moment, more than any other, that has made Emily’s stomach churn with love and confusion. How certain she was. She would have sworn, in that moment, that Alison loved her. Absolutely and with no doubts. That Alison saw those rings and also thought about Emily and forever. It fills her with a dark and hopeless rage to have to look back and think of it all as just another lie.

Emily is torn from this line of thinking by the scrape of Spencer’s boots as she gets up and gathers her things. She follows Spencer and Aria back to the Montgomery house, going inside to check that everything is as it should be. 

As they are walking back to their cars, Spencer puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “I know I haven’t exactly been a good friend to you, lately, Em. And I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Spencer,” Emily agrees, pulling her old friend into a hug. “You can talk to me, you know. About whatever it is that’s going on with you.”

“Maybe later,” Spencer says, biting her lip so hard that Emily expects it to start bleeding.

“Have it your way, then,” Emily says, but she smiles as she gets in her car and follows Spencer back to the parking lot of the Grand.


	4. Kiss Me Deadly

Emily only stops into her room briefly, grabbing her swimsuit and a towel and heading down to have a quick dip in the hotel pool before they close. The whole pool area is deserted, all the families with kids having packed it in for the night. She swims laps for awhile, then floats lazily on her back, enjoying the familiar tang of chlorine in the air, the wavy lights reflecting off the water.

She is trying to stay in the moment, away from memories of Ali splashing in the ocean, sunning on the beach. When they were younger, sneaking off to the kissing rock together, painting their initials on the side. The first time they made love, after Alison came back to town, the night she admitted those kisses weren’t just for practice. The way Alison trembled against her after she was almost strangled. The way they would talk on the phone all night during Emily’s freshman year at Pepperdine, and then jump on each other the moment they were finally in the same place every time Emily had a break from school, or Alison flew out to visit. She thinks of how Hanna looked when Caleb walked into the diner tonight, and can still remember a hundred times that she saw a look just like that on Alison’s face, a look of happiness that was reserved for Emily walking into a room, or bringing her a cup of hot chocolate with the tiny marshmallows, or brushing a strand of hair off her face. Better to not think about it, to push it out of her mind. That way lies madness, she tells herself. There is never going to be an answer for why Alison does anything. Or rather, there is an answer, and it’s always the same: Because she is Alison. Because she does what she wants.

Emily is yanked from her thoughts by a sudden awareness that the wavy lights flickering around the pool have changed. A shadow, a large shadow, is being cast across the water. She treads water and looks around to find the source. It could be nothing, she tells herself, just another guest. But then the shadow is gone as quickly as it appeared, and Emily’s heart is pounding hard as she climbs out of the water and grabs her towel.

Still dripping, she makes a beeline back to room 419, grateful for the mechanical whir and the green light that lets her in. There is a half second in which Emily is aware that something is not quite right, before she identifies the faintest trace of Alison’s perfume in the air. A warning, a valuable one, that allows her to appear not shocked at the sight of Alison herself, sitting on the hotel bed, waiting for her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” are the first words out of Emily’s mouth. 

“I wanted to see you,” Alison says simply.

“Enough do a little breaking and entering, I’m flattered,” Emily says sharply.

“I wanted us to talk,” Alison insists.

“Why, Alison? When there’s nothing left to say?”

Alison looks at Emily, really looks at her, taking in the dripping swimsuit and the hotel towel wrapped around her waist, the dark tangle of her hair. Then she replies, “I can’t stand the thought of you hating me.”

Emily is keeping as much distance between herself and Alison as possible, but nonetheless, she feels gut punched to be in so small a space with her, hearing her say things like this, things that blame Emily for the distance between them. Emily slumps down in an armchair by the window, trying to sit in a way that won’t leave a watermark. 

“I don’t hate you, Alison,” she responds. As she says it, she wonders if it might be true. “Hating you is just another way of giving you power.”

“I hate what I did to you,” Alison says, and it sounds good. Sincere.

“Ali,” Emily says, “I’m here, okay? Spencer said you needed all of us, she asked me to come, and so here I am. But that doesn’t mean that we’re friends, or that I’ve forgiven you, or that everything is fine between us and that it’s okay for you to ambush me in my hotel room. Because it’s not.”

“You’re still angry,” Alison says.

“Being angry with you is a waste of my energy,” Emily counters. “You are who you are. You can’t help your nature.”

“I never meant to hurt you, I swear.” Alison actually has tears in her eyes, now.

Against her own better judgement, Emily can’t help but be pulled into the drama that Alison’s creating. “When did you not mean to hurt me, Alison? When you called and broke it off out of the clear blue? When you insisted you just needed a little time to work on yourself? Or when you married your fucking psychiatrist six months later?”

“I know how it looks,” Alison says.

“It doesn’t look like anything Alison. Those are facts. Please don’t waltz in here and try to draw me some pretty picture where you actually cared about me.”

“How can you say that,” Alison cries. “You know that I did. Emily, you have to know that!”

“What I know, Ali, is that I loved you once, and you ran away and I thought you were dead. And the last two years of high school were a nightmare of threatening texts and constant fear and not being able to walk down the street without expecting a knife wielding maniac to step out of every shadow. But you came back, and it was the one good thing that came out of everything else. And then when we were together, we were really together, and it felt like the best thing in the world, like the happy ending, like the light at the end of the tunnel, like the thing that made everything else worth it. So when you left me the second time, when you broke it off and vanished without a fucking word into whatever twisted version of a marriage you’ve got going on, when you didn’t call for the next three years until you needed something, and then sent Spencer to do your dirty work - what it means is that there was never any light. Just a gaping black hole.”

“I know that I’ll probably never be able to make it up to you, to make you understand,” Alison says.

“I don’t want to understand,” Emily says wearily. “I don’t want to hear your reasons or explanations or excuses. I’m here because I want to make sure my friends are safe, and then I want to go back to my regularly scheduled life 3,000 miles away.”

Alison sits with this for a minute, then takes a deep breath. Emily sees how sad she looks, notices the rise and fall of her chest as she tries to steady herself. Don’t believe it, she tells herself furiously. Alison gets up and kneels in front of Emily, putting a hand on Emily’s knee. Emily looks at it wide-eyed, like it’s a snake about to bite.

“I want you to know that I really did love you,” Alison says quietly. “Yes, I’m a fucked up person, and I know you have no reason to believe me, but that is the truth. Loving you was the truest thing I’ve ever done. And I thought those feelings were gone forever, maybe part of me just wanted them to be gone. But then I saw you today, and my heart, it leapt inside my chest, Em.” She reaches her other hand up to cup Emily’s cheek, and Emily feels paralyzed, frozen like an animal that has just caught the scent of a predator on the wind. Incredibly, Alison leans toward her and kisses her tentatively on the mouth. And Emily’s anger in this moment is so enormous, she actually kisses her back hard, biting her bottom lip, feeling all the old excitement rush through her like a drug. The kiss lasts longer than it should, especially since it shouldn’t be happening at all.

When Alison pulls away, a little breathless, looking slightly dazed, Emily stands up abruptly. “I’m sorry, Ali,” she says. “That trick doesn’t work on me anymore.” She walks over to the door, holds it open, a clear signal that this impromptu visit is over.

“My husband thinks I ran out to get milk,” Alison says, irrelevantly.

“Then don’t forget to pick some up on the way home.” Emily suggests.

Alison wanders out into the hallway, almost as if she doesn’t know quite where she is, how she got there. “Alison,” Emily calls after her, and she turns around, expectant. “I really loved you, too,” Emily tells her, before walking back into her room and closing the door.

\----

The red numbers on the hotel alarm clock show 2am, as a gloved hand dips a copy of a room bill in a can of gasoline, slipping it halfway under a room door before dropping a lit match. Flames ignite and begin licking up the door, throwing the room number of 419 in eerie relief.


	5. Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot

Emily is sound asleep, burrowed under a quilt in Mike Montgomery’s old room, which still has a faint smell of lacrosse socks and Axe body spray. She’s the middle of a dark dream - Alison is laughing and running through a cornfield in a red coat. Emily chases her, but when she puts a hand on Ali’s shoulder, the woman in the coat turns around, and it’s not her at all, it’s a knife wielding stranger wearing an Alison mask. Emily freezes in shock. Charlotte’s voice whispers, “I know you want to kiss me,” just before the knife plunges between Emily’s ribs. 

Emily startles awake, her heart thudding hard in her chest, and hears the sound of a dozen sirens screaming through the night.

Aria appears in the doorway, wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe and a terrified look in her eyes. “It’s the Rosewood Grand,” she says, “It’s on fire.”

Emily grabs one of Mike’s sweatshirts from the closet, throws it on over her pajamas, and hurries down the stairs. Aria doesn’t even bother putting shoes on, she’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans and her slippers as they rush out to Emily’s car, breaking about twelve different laws as they race the few blocks back to the hotel.

“Jesus,” Aria breathes, as it comes into view. The top two thirds of the building is an inferno, flames licking against the night sky. Clouds of smoke are billowing out of broken windows, and a confused mob of sleepy, panicked guests are milling around as firefighters aim hoses at the blaze. 

They scan the crowd frantically, finally catching sight of Spencer, who is standing at the edge of the parking lot, talking on her cell. Aria and Emily run towards her, approaching just in time to overhear Spencer angrily declare, “We discussed this. No, I’m not going to say anything. I don’t know, okay? Just stay out of sight.” 

“Spencer!” Emily calls, and Spencer turns around, looking startled. Maybe even frightened.

“Who were you talking to?” Aria asks. 

“No one,” Spencer answers. “It doesn’t matter.” She points to an ambulance parked near what used to be the main entrance of the hotel and starts leading them towards it. “Come on, Hanna and Caleb are over here.”

Emily and Aria exchange puzzled looks as they follow her to where Caleb is standing by anxiously while Hanna, looking like a queen in singed navy blue pajamas, is being given oxygen by the paramedics. 

“Are you guys okay?” Emily asks, anxiously.

“We’re fine,” Caleb answers. “It was a close call, but we made it out in time.”

The paramedic removes Hanna’s oxygen mask, and she leans against Caleb’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I saved your hacking equipment over my Faviana original,” she laments.

Caleb kisses the top of her head. “That is deep and powerful love,” he agrees.

“What made you decide to sleep at Aria’s?” Spencer asks Emily. “I mean, thank god you did--but what was wrong with your room?”

“I had an intruder,” Emily answers. “An Alison shaped one. She was waiting on my bed when I got back from the pool. She wanted to have a talk.”

“What kind of talk?” Hanna asks suspiciously.

“The kind where she told her husband she was going to pick up milk,” Emily says, rolling her eyes. “She’s sorry. She really loved me. She still has all these feelings, etcetera.”

“Elaborate on the etcetera,” Spencer says.

“She kissed me and I kicked her out,” Emily admits. “It wasn’t exactly a Hallmark moment. I packed up my stuff, texted you guys, and lit out for Aria’s.”

“Good move,” Aria agrees. “If she was telling the truth, you could have woken up with a naked Alison in your bed. And if she was lying, you could have woken up with a horse’s head or a dead hooker next to you.”

“A dead hooker?” Emily asks.

“I saw it on an episode of SVU,” Aria explains. “The point is, with Ali, you never know.”

“As twisted as her motivations undoubtedly are,” Caleb says thoughtfully, “we should be grateful it got you out of the building. We were on the fourth floor, too, and the flames were hottest right at the door of 419. I’d bet money that was where the fire started.”

“Do you have a theory you’d like to share with the rest of the class, Mr. Rivers?” a familiar voice demands. And there, in the red and blue flashing lights of the sirens, lit up by the bright burst of flames from the hotel that is swiftly becoming an inferno, stands Detective Tanner with a familiar accusatory look on her face.

“No,” Caleb says to Detective Tanner. “I don’t even know what I said. I’m very confused. Smoke inhalation.”

“Cute,” Tanner replies. She pauses to give all of them a flinty stare, before she continues. “Last year we had a few car break ins on the east side of town. Year before that, some graffiti artists starting hitting all those abandoned industrial buildings we’ve got sitting around. Year before that, an old lady broke her hip when she slipped on some ice while she was crossing the street. Those are the highlights of our police blotter from the past five years. Then your little posse rides back into town, and next thing you know, we have a five alarm arson on our hands. Anything you might like to tell me about that?”

“No,” Emily answers. “But if we see any lost dogs, we will definitely let you know.”

“You girls still think it’s all a game, don’t you?” Tanner snarls. 

“Question,” Spencer says, raising her hand. “Those settlement checks that the police department sends to our attorney every month - you know the ones for how you failed to protect us while falsely accusing us of various crimes - do you sign those yourself, or is it someone in accounting who does it?”

Tanner scoffs, ignoring her and turning towards Aria. “Miss Montgomery, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed reading Ezra Fitz’s book. Such great attention to detail! You know, I counted fifty-three different felonies in there that were never prosecuted? All committed by - what was it he called you? Oh yes, the Pretty Little Liars.”

“That book is a work of fiction,” Aria shoots back.

“Allegedly,” Tanner responds.

“Is there a problem here?” a charming British voice interjects. Handsome and immaculate in a shiny white coat, Wren Kingston appears before them. “I need to check on these patients, Detective - they’ve clearly been through quite an ordeal tonight. Surely these questions can wait.”

Detective Tanner nods curtly. Turning on her heels, she calls over her shoulder, “Welcome back to Rosewood ladies. Don’t stay too long.”

“That’s friendly,” Wren observes, with an easy smile. He snakes an arm around Spencer’s waist, gives her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Spencer, Hanna - all you girls - I had no idea you were in back in town!” He laughs in a way that is either nervous or delighted or a little manic.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so happy to see you,” he continues. “Though I suppose I could wish for more pleasant circumstances.” He takes Hanna’s palm into his hand and begins applying salve to a shiny pink burn.

“What are you doing here?” Hanna asks, suspiciously.

“I was on my way home from picking up a late shift at the hospital,” Wren explains. “I saw the commotion and popped in to see if there was anything I could do to help.” He finishes Hanna’s right hand, and begins on her left, noticing her ring. 

“I see congratulations are in order! Who’s the lucky chap?” he asks.

“I am,” Caleb answers.

“Well done,” Wren tells him, without taking his eyes off Hanna. “You’ll all have to come round for dinner to celebrate. Melissa will love to have you over, I’m sure.”

“I thought you were in private practice now,” Spencer mentions. “Didn’t I meet some of your partners at the club a few years ago?”

“Oh yes,” Wren agrees, pulling a stethoscope from his pocket and placing it against Hanna’s chest. He puts his other hand against her back. “Breathe, please,” he tells her. Then to Spencer, he replies. “I still help out at the hospital from time to time. Whenever they’re short on staff. I like being on the front lines now and again, you know.”

He keeps his hands on Hanna for a few beats too long, then moves on to bandage Hanna’s left hand in gauze. When he’s done, he puts a hand on her shoulder. “That ought hold you for now, but if you stop in to my office later today, I’d be happy to check you out a bit further.”

“No thanks,” Hanna replies firmly.

“Well,” he says, beaming at them all. “I’ll have Melissa ring you to set up a meal!” He rubs his hands together. “Everything is always so much more exciting when you girls are around.”

Caleb scowls at his retreating back, but Hanna puts her bandaged hand against his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I am completely uninterested in Wren Kingston checking me out.”

“We’ve been here less than 24 hours,” Emily points out. “Someone’s already tried to kill us and Tanner’s threatened to arrest us.”

“And Wren invited me to play doctor with him,” Hanna notes. “So what’s next? Sleepover at Aria’s?”

Spencer chuckles, “Who says you can’t go home again?”


	6. Breakfast at Aria's

The first thing Emily is aware of the next morning, before she even opens her eyes, is the sound of Alison’s voice drifting up from downstairs. And for a second, it’s so comfortingly familiar, especially in a state of half-sleep--so like all the mornings they woke up next to each other, all the times they fell asleep on the phone because neither of them wanted to hang up--that Emily reaches out an arm to the other side of the bed, expecting to feel the warmth of Ali’s body. Her heart plummets as her hand finds nothing but air, nothing but empty space where Ali is not. Emily sits up, wide awake, awash in a feeling of loss that she sternly tells herself is ridiculous. You can’t, she tells herself sternly, miss someone who was never really there.

Emily stumbles downstairs, feeling rumpled, in boxers and a white t-shirt. She flops down next to Hanna on the couch, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It’s only five o'clock in California, but normally she’d be up by now, going for a run, swimming before anyone else gets to the pool. She closes her eyes and smiles at the sound of Aria and Spencer bickering over who should make the coffee, the sight of Caleb grabbing the bag and holding it out of Spencer’s reach.

Hanna looks over at Emily, who seems to be falling back asleep, her head lolling against Hanna’s shoulder, small snuffling noises coming from deep in her throat.

Alison breezes into the room bearing a steaming plate of freshly made chocolate chip pancakes that she whipped up like magic as soon as Hanna announced she was starving. One of those odd bursts of sweetness and kindness that make it so hard to cast Ali as all villain.

Hanna’s reaching for her pancakes, which smell delicious, when Ali catches sight of Emily asleep. She freezes for a split second, her eyes wide and her mouth open, as if she’s forgotten to breathe. It’s a look that appears to be equal parts love and longing, and on anyone else, Hanna would believe it. It looks real, looks like unexpected emotions might be taking Alison by surprise. 

Then Ali snaps out of it, seems to remember where she is, what she’s doing. She might even be blushing, Hanna notices, as she takes the pancakes and dives in. She sees her take another longer look at Emily’s sleeping face, and this one is softer, as if she’s trying to save the memory, store it up for later.

Still a little sleepy and muzzy headed herself, Hanna suddenly remembers:  
_  
All the girls were wearing sparkly champagne colored bridesmaid dresses, shaking their hips on the dance floor to “Single Ladies.” Even Lucas was out there, grooving awkwardly behind Mona, who was laughing at him and smiling, pointedly making the ‘put a ring on it’ gesture towards Mike Montgomery, who was ineffectually trying to corral Bridget Wu -- who had not even been invited, a total wedding crasher -- as she came dangerously close to knocking over the punch bowl._

_The Beyonce song ended, and Spencer and Aria strolled off the dance floor and over to where Hanna was standing. The opening strains of Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” began, and Spencer chuckled and pointed to a corner table where their moms were giggly drunk, Veronica Hastings all fumble fingered as she tried to braid flowers from the center piece into Pam Fields’ hair._

_“They are soooo drunk,” Aria observed._

_“Our mothers do not play around when it comes to open bar,” Spencer agreed._

_Hanna let her eyes drift across the room, feeling totally corny levels of emotion swelling her heart. She watched her grandma charm Caleb’s mom with stories about Oklahoma, saw Byron Montgomery chatting up Kate Randall, his eyes roaming up and down her long legs. For her part in this moment, Hanna’s step-sister was playfully adjusting his fedora. Hanna felt completely full of love for every single person in this room. Even the ones she didn’t like much, under normal circumstances._

_Spencer nudged Hanna, drawing her attention back to the dance floor, where Alison and Emily were drawing quite a bit of attention, dancing close and dirty, Ali was running her hands up and down Emily’s body in time to the music, thrusting her pelvis suggestively, grinding against Em from behind. Emily shook her hair out of it’s sweeping updo, drew a few wolf whistles from the crowd. She turned so she was facing Alison and threw an arm over Ali’s shoulder, pulling her close._

_“Get a room!” a voice shouted._

_“Please don’t!” another one countered, leading to a ripple of laughter among the guests._

_Alison and Emily didn’t even notice, they were so focused on each other, so completely wrapped up in their own little world, the movements of their bodies against each other. And looking at them, it really seemed to Hanna like maybe it wasn’t just lust, wasn’t just Ali putting on another show. There was a light in their eyes when they looked at each other, the way they were always touching - holding hands, sure, but also sitting so their thighs touched, or their shoulders would lean together - that seemed to declare as much. She found that she was willing to include Alison DiLaurentis in her current feelings of warmth and benevolence, to believe that her love for Emily was the real thing, to root for the two of them to find their way to this miraculous place that she and Caleb had reached today._

_“Look at Emily,” Aria commented._

_“She’s so happy, she forgot to be shy,” Spencer said. “Look at them, they’re practically having sex out there.”_

_“That’s just what it looks like,” Hanna declares. “To be young and hot and in love.”_  
  
\----

Her reverie is broken by Spencer, who is chasing Caleb down the hall. “Betrayer!” she shouts. “I know that was decaf!”

The noise wakes Emily as Caleb skids into the living room in his stocking feet. He leaps over the back of the couch and calls, “Safety!” 

They all laugh as Spencer glowers at him from the doorway.

“I’ll call Tanner on you,” she grumbles. “Caffeine deprivation is a crime against humanity.”

Aria appears behind her, contentedly sipping her coffee while looking at her phone.

“Guys,” she says. “Turn on the TV. Ezra’s going to be on Channel 10.”

Hanna grabs the remote, and flips it on just as an overly made up anchor intones:  
_  
There was a massive fire at the Rosewood Grand, in Rosewood, Pennsylvania last night. As our viewers may remember, Rosewood was - only five years ago - the scene of one of the strangest true crime sagas we have ever reported. Five young women, including Alison DiLaurentis - the once missing teenager who was initially presumed dead - were relentlessly stalked and terrorized - four of the girls were kidnapped - by a mentally ill woman who turned out to be Ms. DiLaurentis’ older sister. It is not known if there is any connection between last night’s fire and the case of the Pretty Little Liars, but we have received reports that at least two of the girls were staying at the hotel, and have since been questioned by the police._

 _‘Thank you, Michaela,’ says an affable interviewer. ‘This latest news out of Rosewood is sure to bring a surge of interest in the events of 2012, and joining us today, we have the author of - well, he admits to being the author of one book about those events - welcome to our set, Mr. Ezra Fitz.’_  
  
And there he is, smiling that same boyish smile. He’s the kind of guy, Emily thinks, who is going to look boyish when he’s eighty. As the studio audience applauds politely, Alison returns to the room, bearing plate of pancakes and a glass of juice, both of which she hands to Emily. Knowing the way that Alison works, Emily understands that this is either a peace offering or another attempt to manipulate her emotions, this time with maple syrup on top. She decides it doesn’t matter how the pancakes were intended. She’s hungry, and they taste good.

On the television, the interview is kicking off.  


_“Now, Mr, Fitz, you are the acknowledged author of the non-fiction account of these events, “A is for Answers,” which was widely panned upon its release. And then, two years later, a fictionalized account called, “Pretty Little Liars” was published under the name of Ezria Gatz, which chronicled the story from the perspective of one of the kidnapped girls - the Liars, as you referred to them. That book stayed on the New York Times bestseller list for a year and a half, and yet you have never publicly admitted that you are the author of that book as well.”_  


“Oh please,” Spencer mutters. “Does anyone seriously believe he didn’t write it?”

“It was really well written, though,” Alison muses. “Frankly, I didn’t know he had it in him. ”  
_“Either way,” the anchor continues, “you are known as one of the foremost experts on this case, and one of the only players who hasn’t shied away from media attention. Can you tell us, what do you make of these reports of the last night’s fire? Is there a connection to the Liars? Is ‘A’ at it again?”_

_“I think it’s too soon to say,” Ezra responds calmly. “There are some people claiming faulty wiring led to the blaze, but the fact that the sprinkler system also failed, and that the main alarm system didn’t activate immediately, certainly does raise questions.”_

_“Speaking of raising questions, in “A is for Answers,” you admit to having a relationship with one of the girls, whose name we will not mention as she was a minor at the time, but one of the Rosewood liars that quote, “Went beyond the professional boundaries of teacher/student.” In the fictionalized account, “Pretty Little Liars,” it is made clear that the protagonist, Melody, is having a sexual affair with her English teacher, Edward Frantz. You’ve come in for a great deal of criticism over the way this affair is presented in the book, as a romantic liaison rather than the work of, as some are categorizing it, a sexual predator. Would you like to speak to that criticism?”_

_Ezra composedly answers, “I would say to those critics that ‘Pretty Little Liars’ is a work of fiction, and like all great works of fiction, it has characters who are flawed, who are morally complex. One of the themes of the novel is that everyone is guilty, to varying degrees, everyone keeps secrets, and what happens to the young women at the center of the story is as much the fault of the adults who failed to protect them - whether out of actual malice, or whether through a kind of benign neglect - as it is the fault of their stalker. And I like to think that Edward Frantz, though he exercises a lot of bad judgement, he is genuinely in love with Melody and does his best to help her and her friends. He’s not such a bad guy.”_  
  


“Yeah, you’re a real prince, alright.” Spencer says to the screen.

_  
“There has also been a lot said about the methods that you used to accrue the information that went into 'A is for Answers.'” Did you ultimately publish the fictionalized account of this story under a pseudonym to avoid the threat of lawsuits? Or is it, as some have said, essentially a publicity stunt to generate greater interest in the book itself?”_

_“Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about getting sued,” Ezra answers. “I am not the author of “Pretty Little Liars. Ezria Gatz is.”_

_“Forgive me, it seems like a very thinly veiled pseudonym.”_

_“It does,” he says, with a wink at the camera._

“Was he always this insufferable?” Emily asks. 

“Yes,” Spencer and Hanna answer in unison. Aria doesn’t say anything, but she shakes her head as if she at least wants to disagree.  
_  
Alright, we have to wrap up, but I will ask you for the record - is another reign of terror kicking off in Rosewood?_

 _“I sincerely hope not, Ezra answers. “Those young women have been through enough.”_  
  
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Hanna says, turning it off.

Spencer looks pensive again. “Do you think we should reach out to him?” she asks. “I mean, if he still has his original files, there could be something useful in there.”

“Do I get a veto?” Aria asks. “Because I’d like use it here, please.”

“You get a vote, not a veto,” Spencer answers. 

“Forget Ezra,” Emily suggests. “Shouldn’t we focus on finding Charlotte? Before she tries to murder us again?”

“I honestly don’t believe it was her,” Alison insists. “She’s better now.”

“Come on,” Caleb insists. “Who else could it have been?”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t Charlotte,” Hanna replies, “but don’t forget about Dr. Feelgood showing up out of nowhere.”

“Would he really be that stupid, to start the fire and then strut around the parking lot afterwards?” Aria asks.

“He had to be involved with Cece before.” Emily points out. “ If she was in Radley under the name Charlotte DiLaurentis, he had to know she was getting in and out when she showed back up wearing a visitors badge as Cece Drake.”

“Plus remember all those bodies and body parts that the cops said she got from the medical school? The fingerbone corset? The body in the barrell? Wren would have had easy access to those,” Hanna agrees.

“And someone made my bag bleed for my Oxford interview,” Spencer adds, thoughtfully. “I doubt Charlotte was racking up the frequent flier miles for that one trick, or that she had some random British guy named Colin on her payroll in case of emergency. You’re right that it does seem like he’s involved in something.”

“Probably not anything good,” Caleb says, darkly.

“Alright,” Spencer announces. “We’ll investigate on two fronts. Ali, Aria and I will head to New Directions to see what we can find out on that end. Alison, you’ll sell them a story about your dad being sick and wanting to reconcile with his family, meaning that Charlotte is being transferred to a different facility to be close to him. Forge documents signed by your husband, do whatever you have to do. Hopefully they’ll buy it long enough to let you pack up her room, see if there are any clues there.”

Alison nods coolly, doesn’t even blink at the suggestion of forged documents. “Consider it done,” she tells Spencer. “What are you guys going to do?”

“Have a look around, see if we can uncover anything about who signed her out.” Spencer answers. “There’s a chance we might need a diversion, too, if you’re up for it.”

Alison smiles. “You got it, Spence.”

“We’ll stay here,” Caleb suggests. “See what I can dig up on Wren.”

“Fine,” Spencer agrees. “Hanna, he did seem awfully interested in having you stop by his office today. You and Emily should take him up on it and poke around a little, see if anything seems suspicious.” 

“More suspicious than all the ways we just listed of Wren being suspicious?” Hanna protests. “The last time I snooped in a medical office, I got an unscheduled threatening note tooth-ectomy! Besides, he’s practically your brother in law. If you really want to dig up dirt on him, you can talk to Melissa! Or use the hotel fire as an excuse to stay at their house!”

“She does have a point.” Emily agrees. “Did you even tell Melissa you were in town? Because Wren said -”

“Wren is a liar!” Spencer protests. “That’s why we’re investigating him! You’re the one who suggested he might have set the fire, Hanna. All I’m asking you to do is follow up. It’s a doctor’s office in broad daylight.”

“Like we’ve never been almost killed in broad daylight before?” Emily says in disbelief. “Like when I got kidnapped from a magic show and almost sawed in half? Or when the talking doll lured me to the carbon monoxide barn?”

“That’s not the point,” Spencer argues. 

“The point is that Hanna said no, Spencer,” Caleb tells her. 

“It’s low risk. It’s not a solo mission. I don’t see what the problem is,” Spencer protests

“The problem,” Hanna fumes, “is that you spent the last two years acting like our friendship means less than nothing to you! And now you’re acting like you get to be the boss of us!”

“Guys - “ Aria cuts in, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “fighting isn’t going to make this any better.”

“Aria’s right,” Alison says, “ We’re all on the same side here.”

“Are we?” Hanna asks. “Who were you on the phone with, Spencer? When a fireman was carrying me to an ambulance last night, who did you sneak away to call?”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Spencer insists.

“Then why won’t you tell us?” Hanna demands. “Secrets are what get us into trouble! We’re risking our lives because you asked us to -”

“Don’t act like you came here because I asked you to,” Spencer says angrily, her voice getting that low pitch that Emily remembers as Spencer at her most brutal, most dangerous. “You came because you were worried that poor little Emily was going to take one look at Ali and -”

“HEY!” Emily shouts, jumping up so that she’s standing in the middle of the room, surprising both Spencer and Hanna into temporary silence. “That is enough, both of you! Spencer, we get that you’re the Ravenclaw, but that does not mean you’re automatically in charge! Hanna and Caleb and I will investigate Wren, but we will make our own plan -- one that does NOT include forcing Hanna into his examining room. You worry about your team, I’ll worry about mine!”

Spencer has the grace to look abashed. “Fine,” she says, nodding curtly. “We’ll meet up later to compare notes.” She turns and walks swiftly out of the room. They hear the back door slam as Spencer storms out. Aria makes an apologetic face at Emily, then jumps up to follow.

Hanna looks a little pale. “I’m sorry, Em,” she apologizes. “I never meant for you to get dragged in like that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emily says, sitting back down. “Hopefully she’ll cool off before we go into mission mode.”

“Come on, Hanna,” Caleb says, pulling her off the couch. “Come to the kitchen with me, I’ll make you second breakfast.”

Hanna kisses him on the chin. “This is why I love you.”

They walk down the hall, discussing cheesy eggs versus peanut butter toast, leaving Emily unexpectedly alone with Alison.

“Well,” Alison says. “That was...intense. When you jumped up, I thought you were about to go all Sara Harvey on her.”

“Yeah, well, I try to save my right hook for special occasions,” Emily replies, with a small smile. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” Alison offers, smoothing her skirt nervously. “When I found out that Charlotte was missing, I just panicked. I didn’t think about it what it would mean to have you here. What it would be like to see you.” She holds Emily’s gaze, looking less sure of herself than Emily has ever seen her, ever. “You weren’t,” she says softly, “the one who was in trouble after one look.”

It is so much easier, Emily thinks, to sustain a cold-hearted anger towards Alison when she isn’t right in front of you, isn’t doing her perfect routine of saying all the words that your heart didn’t even know it was aching to hear. Even if they are lies. 

“What is it you want here, Ali?” Emily asks. Part of her is sure this is the same old trick, the one where Alison taps into Emily’s huge reservoir of love and twists it to her advantage, makes Emily the lynch pin in a scheme that requires everyone to trust her again. Then again, it’s unlike Alison to try the same trick more than once. 

“I don’t know,” Alison admits, still with a vulnerable look on her face. “Emily, I woke up this morning, and even with everything that’s going on, I felt happy. I felt happy because I knew I would see you. Even if you want to freeze me out, and I know I deserve it, I do - a day that I see you is so much better than a day that I don’t.” 

“Alison,” Emily sighs. “Maybe you did wake up happy this morning, but you woke up next to your husband. Who you lied to last night about where you were going. Whose signature you’re about to forge on medical documents.”

“He’s not you, Emily,” Alison says.

“I know,” Emily says, standing up to leave. “He’s the one you married.”

\----

An hour later, Emily watches from an upstairs window as Spencer’s silver SUV pulls out, heading off to infiltrate New Directions. 

She meets Hanna in the kitchen, notices that she is dressed in all black, looking like a very dramatic cat burglar. “Is that what you wear for hacking?” Emily asks, confused.

“We're going rogue,” Hanna informs her. 

"What are you talking about?" Emily asks.

"You and me," Hanna responds. "We’re investigating Alison.”


	7. Be Careful What You Look For

“I’m not sure this is one of your best ideas,” Emily protests, as she and Hanna park down the block from Alison’s house. “You heard what she told Spencer about the security system. Ali is practically a ninja - if she called it top of the line, this probably ends with us either in jail or like, laser beamed to death.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Hanna promises, leading Emily around to the back of the house. 

“How?” Emily asks, before how comes into view as they round the corner. 

Mona Vanderwaal, wearing a black leather pants, a tight black t-shirt and a black knit stocking cap, is waiting for them on the back porch.

“You didn’t tell me there was a uniform,” Emily grouches, although that’s really the least of the things that Hanna didn’t discuss with her in advance.

“Emily, hi!” Mona beams, as if they are running into each other at a pep rally. “You look ah-mazing.” She drops her voice lower, and adds with a significant look, “Way to show Ali what she’s missing, am I right?” Emily considers the fact that Mona may actually be the weirdest person on earth. 

“How do you win a fight with a ninja?” Hanna asks. “You bring a better ninja!”

“Aw,” Mona says, patting Hanna’s shoulder. “That’s so sweet.” Mona pulls a roll of duct tape out of nowhere and starts applying it to a pane of glass on the kitchen door. “I like to think of myself as more of a kick ass fairy godmother, if you know what I mean.” She finishes taping and manifests a small hammer from somewhere. She is about to tap the window and break the glass when Emily grabs her hand.

“Wait,” Emily says. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Oh honey,” Mona responds. “It’s the first rule of Ali. That girl is always hiding something.”

“No,” Emily explains. “I mean you don’t have to break the glass. I still have a key.”

“Oh!” Mona exclaims, a little disappointed. “Well, okay. I guess your way is better.”

Emily unlocks the back door, and they step into the house. The security system beeps, but Mona goes over and punches in what looks like a complicated override code. “I’ve already disabled the exterior and interior cameras,” she advises. “I’ve set them up to play a four hour loop, in case anyone is monitoring the live feed. For now, at least, we’re invisible.” She pulls out a sheaf of maps, each of which appears to be a plan of a different level of the house, with red circles and notations of hiding places. She then fastens an earpiece that looks like a space age version of a blue tooth to her ear, handing identical devices to Hanna and Emily as well.

“Red Leader, this is Gold Leader. Do you copy?” Mona says brusquely.

“Copy, Gold Leader. I’m in position. Red Leader standing by.”

“Red Leader?” Emily mouths questioningly.

“We need a look out.” Mona explains. “Lucas would only help if he got to pick the code names.” She divides the room maps into three tidy piles, and then goes into full Ocean’s 11 heist mode.

“Alright ladies,” she says, her voice amplified in Emily’s ear. “This is strictly a catch and release mission. We don’t want Alison to know we were here, which means anything we find, we photograph, leaving the item itself undisturbed.” She pauses to pass out small cameras that look just out of an old spy movie. “ Be quick, be efficient, do not linger. This list of hiding places is thorough, but it is not definitive. Keep your eyes open and stay in radio contact. We have a lot of ground to cover, so it’s best if we split up,” she suggests. Emily takes a sheaf of maps and heads obediently upstairs. 

Emily starts out in Jason’s old room, opening the back of an old radio to discover a handful of Jessica DiLaurentis’ more valuable jewelry concealed in the battery compartment. She unscrews a heating vent and finds a small baggie of white powder. “I think I found cocaine,” she reports. “Maybe Jason’s fallen off the wagon again.”

“He doesn’t live here anymore,” Mona responds. “He and the good doctor don’t get along.”

“I’ve got drugs out the wazoo down here,” Hanna announces, from her station in the main floor bathroom. “We’ve got Valium, Oxycodone, Xanax, Lexipro, birth control, and about a dozen rohypnol in an old antacid bottle. God, what if someone just had heartburn after dinner?”

“I’m opening a locked bedside drawer,” Mona announces. “Anyone want to put twenty bucks on a really filthy sex toy? Maybe some softcore home videos?”

Emily feels her stomach churn at the thought, while pulling back a loose piece of molding to reveal a small stack of fake ids. She flips through them, taking pictures. Vivian Darkbloom with her diamond necklace and her jet black hair. Marnie Winter, a brunette with librarian glasses. Rebecca Kelly, a pouty redhead. Natalie Rostova, with short white blond hair and a neck tattoo of a dagger. All different pictures of Ali, different poses. Different lives she’s made up or imagined for herself. 

She flips to the last one in the stack and stops. It’s a regular picture of Alison, except that her face is clean and scrubbed clear of make up, so she looks younger. Or maybe it’s the way she’s smiling, Emily thinks. Like she’s thrilled to be alive, the kind of smile you’d see on the face of someone who just made it to the top of a mountain. Then she sees the name: Alison Lauren Fields. She feels a lump in her throat, slips it back into the pile, just another fake.

“I’m in!” Mona declares, still apparently working on the bedroom drawer. “And we’ve got an eye mask, we’ve got moisturiser, we’ve got handcuffs - tame - and we’ve got a dream journal. Oh my god, so new age, right?”

Emily is moving on to the hallway, unearthing a briefcase full of money under a false bottom in the linen closet. Most of it is American, but also a few stacks of Euros, a few bundles of Yen.

“Oooh, it’s steamy,” Mona continues. “Emily, do you want to hear?”

“No,” Emily says immediately.

“Emily was sitting next to me in the sand, I could smell salt from the ocean, warm and dark. She kissed me,” Mona reads.

“Mona, that’s private.” Emily protests, uncomfortable. “Unless she had a dream about how she helped Charlotte escape, it’s not relevant.”

Mona disregards her completely,and continues, “I could feel her body pressed against me. She ran a hand over my stomach. Something bad was on the way. My toes were in the sand, but they weren’t my toes, they were made of ashes, in the shape of toes. And then my legs were ashes too, and I tried to kiss her back but there was acid pouring out of my mouth, and I clawed my way into the water to hide, and I did, I held my breath for as long as I could but I could still hear her shouting my name from the shore.”

“Wow - sorry, that turned out way less sexy than I thought.” Mona apologizes.

“I wasn’t listening,” Hanna admits. “I’m in the shoe closet. Are you sure we can’t take anything? Because Ali does not deserve these white peep toe Louboutin pumps, and I totally do.”

“You would look so hot in those shoes,” Mona agrees.

“You think so?” Hanna asks, in her flirty voice.

“Totally,” Mona tells her. “They would make anyone want to rip off you clothes and leave the shoes on. Guaranteed.” 

“And I’m the lesbian here? Stay focused!” Emily hisses at them.

“Don’t worry, I’m on it, working on to the husband’s side of the room,” Mona reports. “Let’s see. He collects WWII memorabilia. He has expensive taste in bourbon. He keeps a bird watching journal, and oh - last week he spotted a green tailed towhee. I think I just died of boredom.”

Emily pulls a poster off the wall and uncovered a map of Paris, with a circle around Le Marais. Why would you even need to hide that, she wonders. 

An hour of searching passes this way, and so far their biggest finds are a .22 caliber pistol concealed in a hollowed out copy of War and Peace and a hidden panic room behind the shoe closet that Hanna has to be rescued from.

Emily is feeling fatigued, exhausted by the immersion exercise in Alison’s brain, but she’s come to the last room on her list, which happens to be Alison’s old bedroom. Also Maya’s old bedroom. Also the room where Jessica DiLaurentis tucked Emily in after the car ran through her living room. From the window, she can see Spencer’s old bedroom, the sweep of the Hastings yard. The grave where Alison, then Bethany, then Jessica were all buried in turn. She feels a chill down her spine. 

She heads to the bookcase, rifling through pages idly. A shiny black dustjacket with hot pink lettering catches her eye. Pretty Little Liars, by Ezria Gatz. She pulls it off the shelf. The front page has an epigraph:

_You’re always better off with a really good lie._

She flips to the first page of the story and reads:

_It was everyone’s fault, and no one was to blame. It was a golden summer of youth that spawned an age of terror. Everything was true, and it was all a lie._

That is a lot better than his usual writing, Emily thinks. She flips through the rest of the pages looking for anything that might be hidden inside. A piece of paper falls to the floor, and as Emily bends to pick it up, she sees that the corner of the page it was marking is also folded down. A passage catches her eye, and she reads:

_The love that Emma Flowers felt for Dee Laurens was pure as only first love can be, it ran hot through her blood like summer mornings at the beach, asked no questions, made no demands. Emma had a swimmer’s heart, the kind that could push against currents so strong they would have drowned lesser mortals and swept them out to sea. Her love was a silent and constant magic so powerful that it could shift the balance of Dee’s soul from darkness to light._

Jesus Christ, Emily thinks. Did he really get all that from those cameras?

She looks at the piece of notebook paper, preparing to take a picture, and feels so dizzy that she has to sit down hard on the bed. It’s a letter, written on Emily’s stationary. The handwriting is an exact match to Emily’s own:  
__  
\---

_Ali,_

_This has to be the last time. You keep breaking my heart and I keep letting you back in to break it again. Loving you isn’t good for me._

_Hope breeds eternal misery, and I can’t keep hoping that someday it will be different._

_After everything I’ve done for you, please do this for me. Keep your distance. Please don’t contact me again._

_Em_

_\-----_  
  
Emily has never seen this letter before in her life. Her hand is shaking as she reads it again.

Hanna’s voice in her ear sounds far away, talking to Mona about whether pencil skirts are in or out, a cache of surveillance photos she’s found.

Mona herself appears in the doorway. “Em-ah-lee,” she drawls, “this is no time for a walk down memory lane. Hanna, get your cute little butt up here, our girl needs help.” 

Hanna is clomping up the stairs when Lucas’ voice comes through, frantic in their ears. 

“We have a bogey, incoming. Gold Leader, do you copy?”

“Lucas, this isn’t Top Gun,” Hanna tells him. “Speak English!”

“You’ve got company,” Lucas says urgently. “Dr. Rollins just pulled in the driveway.” 

Emily shoves the book back onto the shelf, pockets the letter and heads instinctively for the closet. Mona grabs her, however, and points under the bed. It’s a tight squeeze for all three of them, but Mona is surprisingly compact. They hear a key scraping in the lock downstairs as Hanna barely holds back a sneeze.

A smooth, cultured voice calls out, “Alison? Darling? Are you home?”

There is the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by rustling noises from inside the master bedroom. Emily feels something poking her in the stomach and tries to squirm quietly to readjust her position, earning her a dark look from Mona.

The chirp of a cell phone sounds loud in the silence of the house, but they hear him answer with an affable, “This is Doctor Rollins.” What kind of doctor, Emily thinks, answers his own phone?

“Oh yes?” he says, sounding slightly surprised. “Yes, of course. My wife, you say? That’s correct.” There is a pause, and the sound of footsteps approaching. Soon a pair of shoes is visible through a tiny gap in the dust ruffle. “ Yes,” he continues, “I did put in transfer paperwork for Charlotte DiLaurentis. I’m breaking in a new assistant, she may not have been aware of the protocol. No trouble at all. I understand.” The shoes head to the window. “Thank you for calling.”

He remains at the window as he hangs up, immediately placing another call. 

“Alison,” he says, with a slight edge to his voice. “Please call me back and let me know why I just received a call from New Directions regarding the paperwork for your sister’s transfer. Paperwork that you dropped off. Paperwork that I knew nothing about. I’d prefer to find out about it from you rather than the ethics board.” He pauses before changing his tone. “I do love you, dear. You’re always full of surprises.”

Emily feels another pain in her stomach, not from the floorboard this time.

He walks quickly out of the room, and a few minutes later they hear the front door slam, the sound of a car starting below. Then Lucas’ voice comes over their headsets, giving the all clear.

As they’re rolling out from under the bed, Emily pauses to run a hand over the place where the floorboard has been poking her, discovers that it’s a little loose. She pries it up and reaches a hand into the space beneath, where she feels the outline of a bulky manilla envelope.

She doesn’t spare a glance for Hanna or Mona, just tears it open and empties the contents on the bedspread. 

“Pay dirt!” Hanna announces as she sifts through the items. She holds up two forged passports, one for Alison and one for Cece. 

Mona picks up a passkey bearing a compass logo and a matching staff id. “Bingo,” she says. “I recognize that logo. These are both for New Directions.”


	8. Call and Response

On the drive to rendezvous with Spencer’s team, Emily is physically present, seat belt on, as Hanna drives somewhat wildly down the Pennsylvania back roads. But mentally, she is back in California and back in time, to the day of The Call.  
_  
The sun was shining, and Emily was walking up the steps of the library. A month into her junior year, she still smiled a little every time she saw a palm tree, or caught a glimpse of the ocean just down the hill. Her cell phone vibrated, and she fished it out of her bag, smiling at the sight of Ali’s number, at the picture of them taken at Hanna’s wedding that always popped up. They were slow dancing, wearing those matching sparkly dresses, and Aria had snapped a picture just as Emily swept Alison into a dramatic dip. Ali’s smile looks radiant, and the way the light hit their dresses, it almost looks like they're dancing in a swirl of stars._

_“Hey you,” Emily answered, happily. “I was going to call you later, my mom emailed this morning to invite us to Thanksgiving at the base.”_

_“Hey yourself,” Alison’s voice sounded happy, too. “Can you talk? Is now a good time?”_

_“Sure,” Emily agreed. “I don’t have practice till three. Is everything okay?”_

_“Everything is great,” Alison told her. “I mean, with us, don’t you think?”_

_“Yes,” Emily said. “Better than great. Amazing.”_

_“Amazing,” Alison repeated, her voice husky and soft. “It is amazing, Em. Every day that I’m with you, it’s amazing. But we have to take a break.”_

_“What?” Emily asked, her brain actually not processing what Alison meant._

_“I need some time to work on myself,” Alison continued._

_“Alison, what are you saying?” Emily asked, confused._

_“I need us to take a break. I can’t be with you right now.”_

_“What do you mean, right now?” Emily asks, dread creeping into her voice.  
_

_“I can’t make any promises,” Alison answered. “Six months? A year, maybe?”_

_“A year?” Emily said, aghast. “Alison, what is this about?”_

_“It’s about what’s best for us, Emily.” Alison responded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”_

_“But this is insane!” Emily protested, as her chest tightened. “If you don’t want to hurt me, don’t do this! Alison, what’s good for us is to stay together! Are you saying you’re not happy? Is there someone else?”_

_“No,” Alison assured her. “I just have things I need to work through.”_

_“What things? Talk to me,” Emily begged, tears in her eyes. “Trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”_

_“I know this is hard,” Alison said. “But it has to be this way.”_

_“You’re really breaking up with me?” Emily still in disbelief, earning a few looks from other students passing by._

_“Not forever,” Alison said. “Just for now.”_

_“But maybe for a year? Or maybe more? Ali, you can’t press pause on people’s feelings. I thought we were on the same page, I thought we were moving forward. Splitting up is not moving forward! It’s just splitting up.”_

_“I need to do this, Emily.” Alison insisted. “I love you, but we can’t be together right now.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Emily said, a sob rising in her throat. “Whatever you think you can’t tell me, I promise you can.”_

_“Trust me,” Alison said. “This is for the best.”_

_“I have to go,” Emily said, unable to hold back her tears any longer._

_“I love you,” Alison said, before she hung up._

_Emily looked down at her phone in a daze. The entire call took less than three minutes._

_Alison never called again. Five months later, she married her psychiatrist._  
  
\---

Emily runs a finger over the note in her pocket, feeling unsure. She’s spent three years telling herself that Ali never really loved her. Hard as it was to believe, it seemed like the only possibility given the way things ended. For the first time in years, Emily considers the story from a different angle, opens the door to the faint stirring of the idea that Alison might have been telling the truth.

“Em!” Hanna says, a hand on her shoulder. “Emily! Was that Toby’s truck?”

“What?” Emily says, realizing they have arrived at the rendezvous point. “Where?”

Hanna scrunches down in her seat and points out the window. “The one with the windows that Spencer just finished fogging up.” And there Spencer is, smiling to herself as she smoothes her hair and reapplies her lipstick with a pocket mirror. She re-fastens a few buttons on her shirt. 

“She looks so different,” Emily says.

“You mean those bangs?” Hanna asks.

“No,” Emily says. “When she’s happy.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Toby doesn’t have that truck anymore. If that helps.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Hanna remarks. “I can’t believe you spaced right when we were having a clue.” 

Sorry,” Emily says. “I was thinking about Alison.”

“I know,” Hanna tells her. “You had Alison-face. Please tell me you were thinking about our tour through the fun house of lies.”

“Kind of,” Emily answers. “I found something else. Something I didn’t show you.” Emily pulls the note out of her pocket, hands it to Hanna, whose face is wary. She reads it through quickly, then looks at Emily.

“What does this mean?” Hanna asks.

“I didn’t write that!” Emily says. “It means someone else did this, someone broke us up, outside forces were at work!”

Hanna’s voice is gentle as she says, “Em, Alison broke you up. Don’t forget that part.”

“She said she needed time,” Emily says, feeling something like hope rising in her chest.

“But look what she did with that time,” Hanna points out. “She married someone else. She did that on her own. This letter didn’t force her into it.”

“I know that,” Emily says, faltering a little. “But it changes how I feel. The way she dropped me like a hot potato after the break up, I thought it meant she never cared about me, not really. But maybe it didn’t.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “Hanna, I think this was Spencer. ‘Hope breeds eternal misery.’ She said that to me once, after Paige left early for Stanford.”

“She said it to me, too.” Hanna replies. “When Caleb went to go find his mom. It’s practically the Hastings family motto. She probably needle points it onto pillows. But forget the letter, okay? Think about the passports. Think about the roofies in the medicine cabinet. This is not the time to start having fuzzy feelings about Ali again. I know how much you loved her. But trusting her is always a mistake. Always.”

“It’s not always like that with her,” Emily tells her.

“Yes, it is!” Hanna exclaims. “You know you’re my best friend, right? That I love you more than cheesy puffs?” She reaches for Emily’s hand and interlocks their fingers.

“I know that,” Emily tells her.

“Because I have something to tell you,” Hanna continues. “Spencer didn’t write that letter. I did.”

“What?!” Emily cries, stunned. “Hanna, why?”

“I should have told you this a long time ago,” Hanna begins:  
_  
Hanna was in her wedding dress, happily tipsy, as she stumbled down the candlelit corridor of the reception hall, in search of the only bathroom with a stall big enough to accommodate her dress. She could hear the music drifting after her, the dj now playing what sounded like “The Electric Slide,” and grinned at the certainty that Aria and Emily were probably hitting the dance floor, getting everyone into it, joyful and goofy. She forgets about her need to pee for a second, and leans against one of the giant stone pillars, blissed out on the feeling of her own incredible luck. She looked at her hand, the gold band of her ring glimmering in the moonlight, thinking of the tears of joy in Caleb’s eyes as he put it on her finger, the way Pastor Ted beamed at them as they recited their vows._

_There’s a sudden noise of breaking glass somewhere off to the left, and despite the fact that it’s been a year since Charlotte went away, she still jumps a little at the sound. She peers around the pillar she’s been leaning against, and sees that two guests have snuck away from the big party for a moment alone, the noise must have been a flute of champagne dropped against the stone floor. They break apart quickly, the woman putting a hand against the man’s chest, playfully. Hanna’s mouth opens in shock as their faces come into view. Alison. And Noel Kahn._

_“Alison,” Hanna called out, and Ali turned, looking supremely unconcerned at being caught making out with a guy. A guy who, being a guy, was obviously not Emily. Not her girlfriend._

_“Hanna,” Alison smiled. “Girl, your wedding is the most gorgeous party this town has ever seen.”_

_“What was that?” Hanna demanded, not about to let Alison distract her from the scene she had just witnessed._

_“Noel?” Alison laughed. “He’s a little drunk is all.”_

_“You were kissing him.” Hanna said, accusingly._

_“He was kissing me. Come on, Han, name one girl who hasn’t been kissed by Noel Kahn after he’s had a few drinks.”_

_“You weren’t exactly discouraging him,” Hanna observed._

_“I pushed him off,” Alison told her, sounding annoyed. “What should I have done? Slapped him? Grabbed one of Mona’s old whistles?”_

_“Slapping him seems like a good start,” Hanna suggested. “Moving away, announcing in a loud voice that you have a girlfriend.”_

_“He knows that,” Alison answered. “He’s an old friend. He’s helped me out so much, back in the day. He’s a good guy. I didn’t want to embarrass him.”_

_“Are you going to tell Emily?” Hanna asked._

_“Tell her what?” Alison said with a wave of her hand. “Nothing happened. I love Emily. I love being with her, I love watching those awful horror movies with her, I daydream about kissing her on top of the Eiffel Tower, okay? Not ducking in time to avoid Noel Kahn’s slimy lips on mine doesn’t have anything to do with that.”_

_“His lips are slimy,” Hanna agreed, wavering, wanting to believe Alison. Although they’ve been friends long enough for Hanna to recognize the feeling of wanting to believe her as a key sign that Ali is lying. “But with God as my witness, Alison, if you break Emily’s heart, I will - ”_

_“I’m not going to break her heart,” Alison assured her. “And if I ever do, you can bludgeon me to death with a rock and bury me in Spencer’s yard all over again. Because I would deserve it. Don’t ever think I don’t know how lucky I am to be with her.”_

_Hanna nodded, still full of doubt, and let Alison take her arm as they walked together towards the bathroom._  
  
\----

“I caught her red-handed,” Hanna says ruefully. “I should have told you right away. But I let her talk me out of it. She was always playing a double game with you, Em.”

“Hanna,” Emily breathes, a hand over her mouth, a sick feeling in her stomach. “Alison told me about Noel coming on to her. She told me that night.”

“She told you a story,” Hanna counters. “Probably because she knew she got caught.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Emily tells her.

“Believe I had your best interests at heart,” Hanna tells her. “You were never going to move on with your life if you thought she was coming back.”

“You shouldn’t have interfered!” Emily says, raising her voice. “This is my life we’re talking about!”

“I know you’re mad,” Hanna says, getting out of the car. “But you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. And Alison DiLaurentis is the only thing in the world that makes you weak.”


	9. Coconuts

“Where’s Alison?” Emily asks as soon as she catches sight of Spencer and Aria sitting behind lane 17 at the far end of the Thornville bowling alley.

“Hello to you, too,” Spencer says, looking perfectly put back together.

“She went home to rest,” Aria tells her. “She hit her head pretty hard when she fainted.”

“She fainted?” Emily asks, feeling a surge of concern that she tries not to analyze.

“Fake faint, real injury,” Spencer elaborates. “Wounded in the line of creating a diversion.”

“It looked real,” Aria replies. “I mean, I knew she was going to do it, and I was still freaked.”

“Why are we meeting at a bowling alley?” Hanna asks, walking over with Caleb and a cheese pizza in tow. “No way am I putting my feet in those smelly clown shoes.”

“It’s noisy here,” Spencer explains. “Less chance of being overheard.” She pauses. “And I’m sorry about this morning. I think we’re all on edge.”

“It’s okay,” Hanna tells her, looking at Emily. “You were doing what you thought was right.”

“Did you find anything?” Spencer asks. 

“Did we ever,” Hanna replies.

“I’ll start,” Caleb says. “I went to Wren’s office, did a little chest thumping about how he needs to stay away from my wife. So I may be un-invited to dinner, but we managed to plant a wireless interceptor, so I should have full access to his office network as soon as they boot up tomorrow morning.”

“Who’s we?” Hanna asks curiously.

Caleb’s ears turn red. “Lucas,” he answers. “He helped me.” Emily glances at Hanna, still mad, and thinks how uncomplicated it must be to be her, to be in love with a man who is such a bad liar.

Hanna looks at him, confused. “Except Lucas was helping us break into Alison’s.”

“He was helping you what?!” Spencer asks, in a voice that cuts off all further discussion of Caleb’s mission.

“We decided to investigate Alison,” Emily admits. “We wanted to find out if there was anything she wasn’t telling us.”

“It’s so sweet that you still say if,” Aria says. “What did you find out?”

Hanna pulls out the incriminating envelope of passports and passkeys, empties it on the table. “Those are for New Directions,” she explains, point to the passkey and staff id. “And these,” she says, holding up the passports, “I assume are for fleeing the country.”

“Then why is she still here?” Emily asks. “If she helped Charlotte escape, why raise the alarm?”

“Emily, stop.” Hanna says, exasperated. “We all know the guiltier Alison looks, the more you want to defend her. It’s deja blue, but it doesn’t mean she’s actually innocent.”

“Deja vu,” Spencer says automatically. “This is definitely incriminating,” she says with a frown, examining the passports. “But Emily has a point. It doesn’t make sense. If Alison helped Charlotte escape, why did she call us all in? If she had fake passports made, why aren’t they sipping champagne on the French Riviera right now? Something doesn’t track here.”

“A lot of things,” Caleb agrees. “If she honestly wants us to investigate, why wouldn’t she tell us that she had full access to New Directions?”

“I found these in an envelope full of surveillance photos,” Hanna continues. She pulls the flash drive out of her spy camera.

“When exactly did you did become James Bond?” Aria asks, impressed.

“Jane Bond,” Hanna corrects her, as she flips quickly through a bunch of images that Emily barely has time to make out. Jason walking into a bar. Wren Kingston shirtless with a shapely brunette who looks about sixteen. Three time lapse shots of the Hastings’ yard. Fully clothed Wren in a lip lock with blonde girl who looks even younger. Kenneth DiLaurentis getting into a black sedan. Spencer’s SUV parked at the Hasting’s lake house. 

“This one,” Hanna announces triumphantly. Dr. Rollins looks a little more handsome than he did in the picture on Spencer’s phone. It’s a good angle for his jaw, and he’s wearing a long black coat and walking out of the Monaco Hotel in Philadelphia. He has a hand resting on the small of his female companion’s back. Her body language is closed, watchful. The expression on her face is wary, her eyes shifting to the side, as if she’s scanning the area, worried about being seen. Her features are unmistakable. 

“Oh my god,” Aria whispers. “He’s having an affair with Melissa?”

“We don’t know that,” Spencer replies automatically.

“No, but it seems like a pretty safe guess,” Emily says.

“You think this is connected to whatever Alison is up to?” Caleb asks Hanna.

“I think Alison found out her boring bird watcher husband was screwing around,” Hanna tells him. “And decided she wanted a little tit for tat.”

“Wait,” Aria says, “are you saying Emily is the tit?” 

“I’m not the tit,” Emily replies, defensively. “And even if I were, Hanna, it’s none of your business.”

“Are you guys fighting now?” Aria asks, looking from Emily to Hanna curiously.

“No,” Hanna says, at the same moment that Emily says, “Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer muses, ignoring the tension in the air. “This is Alison we’re talking about. She snaps her fingers and she could have her pick of guys - or girls - lining up to go home with her. She doesn’t need to resort to double blind mental hospital escape scenarios just to get Emily back in town.”

“Maybe it’s not an affair that she wants,” Caleb suggests. “There’s no passport here for her husband, so if she and Cece are running, it doesn’t look like he’s invited to come along. If she’s starting to think her marriage was a mistake, maybe she’s hoping she and Emily can pick up where they left off.” 

“Guys, I’m sitting right here.” Emily reminds them.

“What do we know about Rollins?” Aria asks, changing the subject. “I mean he must be evil, right, if he’s involved with Melissa?”

“We had a little run in with him,” Emily informs the others. “He came home unexpectedly, and we heard him take a call from New Directions about the transfer paperwork. He covered for her, but he didn’t seem to know about Charlotte being missing. From what we heard, it didn’t sound like he was involved.”

“Well, we have an idea who might be,” Spencer admits. “We spotted an old friend at New Directions. Eddie Lamb.” 

“That can’t be a coincidence,” Hanna says, and Caleb nods in agreement. “Did you talk to him?”

Aria shakes her head. “We hid behind a vending machine when we saw him.” 

“He gets skittish when approached,” Spencer reminds them. “I want to have some solid questions to ask before we give up the element of surprise.”

“Do you think he signed her out?” Emily asks.

“Possible, but unlikely.” Spencer replies. “Charlotte could only leave the facility if she was signed out by her psychiatrist, or an immediate family member approved by her psychiatrist. So that list would be a short one, Alison or Rollins.”

“What about Jason?” Emily asks.

“Not on the approved list,” Spencer replies.

“So which one of them was it?” Hanna asks. “Ali or Rollins?”

“Neither,” Spencer answers. “That’s where it gets strange. There was another name on the list that caught Alison off guard. She claimed it was her grandmother.”

“Both of her grandmothers are dead,” Emily points out.

“God, I really can’t take another lost DiLaurentis sibling slinking out of the psychotic woodwork right now,” Hanna laments. 

“What was the name?” Caleb asks.

“Estella DiLaurentis.” Spencer tells them. 

“Estella DiLaurentis?” Emily repeats. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure,” Aria confirms. “Alison was giving them this whole story about her father being in the hospital, his touching change of heart about Charlotte - blah, blah, blah - the whole family was rallying to his bedside, and in all the confusion she wasn’t even sure who had signed the release paperwork last week. The lady at the desk told her it was Estella DiLaurentis, she fainted, everyone ran over, and then Spencer planted the wireless interceptor thingy.”

“It couldn’t be,” Emily says, more to herself than to her friends. Except that it could be. In a horrible way, it made absolute sense. 

“Do you know who that is?” Hanna asks. “I know you’re mad, but if Alison has an evil twin or something, you need to tell us before we all get axe-murdered.” 

“I have to go,” Emily says, standing up so suddenly that she almost knocks over the table. “I have to talk to Alison.” 

“Emily, wait,” Spencer says, a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “We still don’t know what’s going on, but we do know Alison can’t be trusted.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Emily says angrily, glaring at both Hanna and Spencer. "I thought she was like your sister, Spencer.”

“She is like my sister,” Spencer says grimly, looking at the picture of Rollins and Melissa, still open on Caleb’s laptop. “But in my experience, sisters lie.”

Emily shrugs off Spencer’s restraining hand, grabs her keys from Hanna, and practically runs out to her car, a million thoughts racing through her brain. It would make so much sense. Why hadn’t she ever seen it before? She didn’t want to see it. She was too happy for hard questions.

She hears footsteps behind her and turns, expecting Hanna, but sees Caleb instead.

“Ali’s not at her house,” he tells her. “Or at least her car isn’t.” He holds up his phone, which is displaying a tracking app with a blinking green light listing Ali’s current location.

“I know exactly where that is,” she tells him. “Thanks.”

“Emily,” he says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be angry, okay? But you four care about each other so much, sometimes it’s easy to do the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“I can’t talk about this right now,” Emily tells him. “I have to go.”

She drives off with a squeal of tires, and forty minutes later, she pulls up and parks behind Alison’s car. It’s been years since she’s been here, but it still smells like cheap beer and bonfires. Some things never change, and Noel Kahn’s cabin is one of them.

Through the screen door, she catches sight of Alison, propped up on the couch and staring out the back windows. She is wrapped in an old quilt, holding an ice pack to her head. Here, on the edge of the woods where no one else can see her, it looks like she’s been crying. Although the sun is setting, she hasn’t turned on any lights. As Emily looks at her, she feels a roulette wheel of emotions spinning inside of her. Rage and hurt and guilt and fear and love, which she doesn’t try so hard to tamp down on, as she usually might.

She doesn’t hesitate. She walks right in, as Alison sits up, looking startled at her sudden appearance.

“Ali,” Emily says, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “Do you have a daughter?”


	10. Secrets and Lies

Alison doesn’t answer, she just stares at Emily like she’s seeing a ghost.

“How did you know I was here?” she asks.

“I was driving around,” Emily answers. “I saw your car.”

Emily sits down on the couch, a little closer to Alison than she maybe needs to, so that their thighs and shoulders are touching. Ali tenses for a moment, almost as if she’s afraid it’s a trick, then relaxes, tentatively resting the uninjured side of her head against Emily’s shoulder. Emily feels a wave of tenderness in her heart, and a warm kind of buzz running along every place their bodies are touching.

They sit there in silence, watching the sunset outside the window. The leaves of the treetops are starting to turn, little pockets of color flaring up orange and yellow and red.

“Everything is about to change,” Alison says. “Look at the sky. A storm is coming.”

“This is Rosewood,” Emily tells her. “A storm is always coming.” She pauses, then takes the ice pack from Alison’s hand, to look at her head. She presses the ice pack gently against Alison’s head, which means that her arm is almost around Alison. Almost. 

“Was it the first year you were gone?” she asks. “When Aria was in Iceland?”

Alison sighs against Emily’s neck. In spite of everything, Emily feels a shiver run down her spine. 

“Yes,” Alison says, like no word has ever cost her so much.

“Cece told me,” Emily admits. “She told me you had a pregnancy scare at Cape May.”

“It wasn’t a scare,” Alison confesses. “The truth is, I was planning to run away that weekend. I was going to take the money from Byron and go to a clinic in Philadelphia. I had some cash and some fake ids ready to go. I figured I’d be back in a few days, tops.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emily asks. “I would have helped you. I would have gone with you.”

“I know,” Alison says, miserably. “I know you would have. But I couldn’t tell you.” She takes a deep breath. “My parents were locked in their weird staring contest of a marriage, waiting to see who would blink first. Guys wanted a piece of me, girls wanted to be me.” 

“You were so different,” Ali continues, her voice breaking a little. “ All you wanted to do was love me. I couldn’t risk losing that, Em. I couldn’t stand the thought of how you’d look at me, if I had to tell you I was pregnant because I’d spent half the summer having sex with some guy I met on the beach.”

Emily puts down the ice pack, and wraps her arm fully around Alison’s shoulders. She closes her eyes and tries not to think about whether it feels right. It does. “I was fourteen years old. I would have been crushed. But I wouldn’t have looked at you any different, Ali. I loved you too much.”

At these words, Alison starts crying in earnest. Emily doesn’t say anything, but she does pull Alison closer, wrapping both arms around her, feeling too many feelings to name.

“After my mom,” Alison gulps, “after she buried me alive, it just messed with my head. I didn’t want a baby, but I thought--I don’t know--that I could at least be a better mother than that. I told Mrs. Grunwald, and she arranged the adoption. She knew a girl, someone from the sorority, who’d been trying to have a baby but couldn’t. I spent most of that year hidden in a secret room in the sorority house. I guess someone found out later, and then she was fired, but I had the baby and named her Estella.”

“From Great Expectations,” Emily says. “God, I read that book like fifteen times when you were gone. That time we kissed in the library, my heart was racing and you just smiled and kept talking about that damn book. How Estella had admirers without end and all of them loved her so much more than she loved them. And you said, ‘That’s the best legacy a girl could ask for. I’m going to name my first daughter after her.’” 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” Ali sniffs.

“I remember everything,” Emily tells her. “Especially when it comes to you.” They sit in silence for a few beats of time, thinking about all the things there are to remember.

“I never asked you anything,” Emily says, “About the time you were gone. You got so closed off whenever it came up. I thought you never wanted to think about it again.”

“I didn’t.” Alison agrees. “I had the stretch marks lasered off and thought that was the end of it.”

“But someone else knows,” Emily says. “Alison, we have to tell the others. This might be a key piece of information.”

Alison closes her eyes and nods. Emily moves away from Alison and sends an ‘SOS - KAHN CABIN’ group text.

When she is done, she leans back against the couch and instinctively puts her hand over Alison’s. Alison locks their fingers together and squeezes, clearly trying to pull herself together.

“Em,” she says, “I wanted to tell you. We were so good together. I was so happy with you, it scared me to think about all the old secrets I was dragging around. About how someday, one of them might surface and bring everything crashing down.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me everything?” Emily asks, stunned. 

“I was trying to figure out a way to,” Alison answers. “I was in therapy, I wanted us to have a foundation built on honesty. But I thought I needed time to tie up loose ends.” She leans forward and hangs her head, staring at the floor rather than at Emily. “Like Cyrus. We used to extort money from people - I would lure marks to a hotel room, and then he’d burst in pretending to be my boyfriend and threaten to beat them within an inch of their lives unless they paid him off - and I thought it would be better to tell you that if I could wrap a nice bow around it, tell you I’d helped put him in jail for something else.”

“Did you put him in jail for something else?” Emily asks.

“No,” Alison admits. “Once I got your letter, I figured there wasn’t much point.”

Emily doesn’t even blink. Trusting Alison is the instinct of the moment and the habit of a lifetime. She pulls the letter out of her pocket, and Alison freezes. 

“Where did you get that?” Alison whispers.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emily says. “Alison, I didn’t write this.”

“What?” Alison says, dully. She looks stunned, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t write this,” Emily repeats. “Hanna did.”

Alison shakes her head, as if she’s not hearing properly. 

“She was trying to protect me.” Emily continues. “She thought there was something between you and Noel Kahn.”

“Noel?” Alison asks, sounding almost hysterical. “He knew I was pregnant that summer, I told him he was the father. That’s why he helped me so much. But there was nothing like that - after. Nothing! You really didn’t write that letter?”

Emily shakes her head. “I didn’t. I would never have said those things.”

Alison crumples into a ball and makes a noise that sounds to Emily beyond crying. It’s a keening, the sound of a mortally wounded animal still trying to drag its way home through the woods. 

Emily kneels beside her and puts an arm around her shoulders again. Alison turns her face towards her and Emily draws closer, as if there are magnets under her skin, and the next moment they are kissing and it feels wild and desperate and right. Emily feels the tears that haven’t dried, that are still running down Alison’s face, and slides her tongue into Alison’s mouth, hears Ali moan and pull her closer. Alison’s right hand slips under Emily’s shirt, running over the smooth skin of her back, as her left hand strokes the side of Emily’s neck, as if she wants to touch as much of Emily as she can. Emily shifts her weight and pulls Ali down on top of her, tangling a hand in her hair.

The moment is interrupted by a loud sound of throat clearing, a blast of cold air. Emily looks up to see Spencer, Aria, Hanna and Caleb framed in the doorway.


	11. The Great Pretender

“Is this the SOS?” Spencer asks, wryly.

“No,” Emily says, blushing furiously. “No, it’s not.” 

Hanna stalks into the room, her eyebrows furrowed, throwing Alison a steely glare.

Ali glares right back, her face contorting with into a look that is both icy and furious. Emily puts a hand on her knee, announces to the others, “Alison has something to tell us.” 

Alison goes through her story a second time, holding tight to Emily’s hand. 

Once she is finished, even Hanna’s face is full of shocked sympathy.

“Who else knows about this?” Spencer asks. “I mean, a psychiatric hospital doesn’t release a dangerous patient to the care of a seven year old child. Even Radley wouldn’t have done that. Probably.”

“It came up in family therapy,” Alison tells them. “So Charlotte knows, and Joseph - my husband,” she says quickly, “Mrs. Grunwald. And Noel.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Maybe Ezra Fitz. I think he might have had some suspicions.” 

“He didn’t put it in his book,” Spencer says, shaking her head. “And he threw in plenty of fake fictional details, I doubt he’d choose to leave that out.”

“You read the book?” Aria asks, surprised.

“I was stuck in an airport,” Spencer explains. 

“What about the father?” Caleb asks. 

“He didn’t know,” Alison says. “I never told him.”

“Was it Wilden?” Hanna asks. “Was he Beach Hottie?”

Alison makes a sound that would be something like a laugh, if it wasn’t full of anguish. “I wish,” she replies. “I never knew his real name.”

“What?” Emily exclaims.

Alison squeezes Emily’s hand as she starts to explain. “He was a masterful liar. When I first met him at Cape May that summer, he told me his name was Peter Weston. He said he was an architect and that he’d just designed a new skyscraper in Dubai. He was so charming, you wanted to believe him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. He played volleyball on the beach in these tight red swim trunks and he had this wolfish smile when he looked at me - what did I care who he was? But the next time I saw him, he was wearing different glasses, and he laughed when I called him Peter. He said his name was Ripley Sawyer, he was a hedge fund manager. I played along and told him my name was Vivian Darkbloom, and he laughed again, and after that, we were both different people every day.”

She pauses for a moment, as if lost in memory. “It was intoxicating,” Ali continues, sounding wistful. “Pretending to be someone else was the easiest way for me to be happy. I don’t know what his reasons were. I asked him once, and he didn’t answer. He said ‘Why be dull? Why should the mirror have only three faces?’ He could be creepy like that. And it was creepy, after awhile, how he could change his entire personality, even change what he looked like just by putting a corner of his mouth down.”

“Then, one night, he was Earl Winthrop, and he took me out on his yacht--I don’t even think it was his, I think he stole it--and he got really dark. It was late at night, and we had sailed out far enough to be basically alone on the water. We were having sex, it was like something snapped behind his eyes, and then his hands were around my throat, choking me. I nearly blacked out, I went limp so he would think I had, and when he was - finished - he picked me up and threw me into the water. And the scariest part about it was the look in his eyes. He wasn’t even angry. I think he did it just to see what it would feel like.” 

“Oh my god, what did you do?” Aria asks.

“I swam for it,” Alison replies. “It was miles to shore, but I made it. I was soaked, my clothes were in tatters, my purse was still on his stupid boat. I found some people camping on the beach, and I borrowed their phone to call Cece. She picked me up, and I didn’t see him again that summer.”

“Have you seen him since then?” Emily asks. “Did you ever find out his real name?”

“I see him everywhere,” Alison tells them, “He’s Wren Kingston.” 

\---------

Outside the cabin, a gloved hand carefully places 8x10 glossy photographs to create a collage effect on the windshield of each car parked in front of the cabin. There are dozens of photographs, but only three images: Charlotte DiLaurentis looking terrified, half her face covered in blood; Charlotte DiLaurentis bound and gagged, in what looks like a factory basement; and Charlotte DiLaurentis, looking quite dead, in an open grave next to the Hastings’ prize winning azaleas.


	12. To the Grave

Inside the cabin, there is a collective gasp. 

“Wren!” Spencer says. “Ali, he’s your husband’s business partner! He lives next door to you!”

“I know, believe me,” Alison replies. “Shana told me he was gone for good, all of his things had been shipped to London. But then three years ago, he came back. He knows Joseph from some medical conference, they’re old friends. The truth seemed too crazy to try and tell anyone. He pretended we’d never met before, and I went along with it. But the way he looks at me sometimes, he seems so amused.”

“Is Wren his real name?” Caleb asks. “Is he even a real doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Alison tells him. “It might be. He’s been using it for a long time. And I think he must be a doctor, I mean wouldn’t people notice, otherwise? But he definitely wasn’t British before. ” 

“Stop!” Hanna says. “He’s not even British? That makes him so much less cute.”

“He’s consults on mental health cases at New Directions,” Alison continues. “The first time I saw him there, I thought he was playing some kind of game with me, or with Charlotte. I made up this elaborate getaway plan - passports, passkeys - in case we would ever need to make an escape from him, no questions asked. But she was doing so much better, and he never tried to get involved with her case, and eventually I relaxed. Until now.”

Emily sees Hanna and Spencer exchange a doubtful look. 

“Does Melissa know?” Spencer asks.

“She must have her suspicions,” Alison responds. “They’ve been together for years.”

“But is she the Bonnie to his Clyde, or is she Patty Hearst and he’s the bank robber?” Aria wonders.

“I’ll have lunch with her tomorrow,” Spencer promises. “See if I can get a read on it.” She looks at her watch. “It’s almost eight, and I don’t know about you, but spending the night in a secluded cabin in the woods doesn’t sound like the best plan right now. We should head back to town.”

Minutes later, they walk out to their cars, and Alison screams.

\---

“They could be photoshopped,” Caleb says, studying the photographs. “But I can’t say for sure.”

Lightning flashes in the distance, and the wind kicks up, whipping leaves around their feet.

“We have to go check your yard,” Alison implores Spencer. “Maybe she’s been drugged!”

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Hanna suggests. “That’s the only picture with a clear location, don’t you think it might be a trick to round us up and herd us right into Wren’s backyard?”

Emily looks at the anguish on Alison’s face, and makes a decision. “We have to check it out. Two people have already been buried alive in that grave. If there’s even the slightest chance Charlotte could be there and be alive, we have to go.”

“Wren and Melissa are at a big hospital gala tonight,” Spencer agrees, checking her phone. “They should be gone for a few hours. This might be the best chance we get.”

Before long, they are standing in the Hastings backyard in the pouring rain, holding shovels. The yard is strewn with construction debris: cinder blocks, unsanded wood, paint cans, ropes, and sawhorses.

“They really are renovating,” Spencer informs the group. “Melissa wants a new deck, a privacy fence, and a water feature.”

“Some water feature,” Hanna mutters, as they gather around the former - and possibly current - gravesite. It looks like nothing so much as a pit of wet mud.

“The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish,” Emily says grimly, as she steps into the ankle deep mud and bends down to start shoveling. The others do the same, but the ground is so wet that it’s more like bailing water than shoveling dirt. 

“I think we’re making progress,” Aria says, optimistically. “The mud is up to my knees already.”

Emily looks up and has a horrible realization. “Guys!” she says, urgently. “We’re not digging, here, we’re sinking!” Sure enough, as she tries to move her feet, she can feel them being suctioned in place. From the sounds of it, the others are discovering the same thing. Their various flailing movements seem to make them sink faster. 

“Nobody move!” Spencer shouts. “Stay as still as you can!” 

Emily risks a quick head turn to see how everyone is faring. Caleb, as the tallest, is the least submerged, but it seems like he must have moved quite a bit trying to pull Hanna out, so he’s still only an inch or two better off than Emily herself, and she can already feel the mud rising to past her waist. Aria is looking especially panicked as is Hanna. Alison seems calm and alert, scanning the area for a possible way out.

“Help!” Hanna screams, as loudly as she can. With the wind and the storm, it seems unlikely that anyone will hear, but evidently everyone decides that it’s worth a try. Soon all six of them are screaming for help as loudly as they can. With a sinking heart, Emily remembers what Spencer said about Wren and Melissa being gone for hours yet. 

After five minutes, their voices are getting hoarse, and Hanna and Aria have both switched from yelling actual words to a kind of primal and terrified shrieking, as the mud is now creeping up to Aria’s neck.

There’s a loud rumble of thunder, followed by a crack of lightning that illuminates an ominous hooded figure figure running towards them. 

Their rescuer grabs a coil of rope from the top of a woodpile, and tosses one end towards them. It lands nearest to Spencer, who grabs it quickly and hands it to Aria. Aria uses the rope to pull herself slowly to safety, and the black clad stranger tosses it back in towards Emily. Emily hesitates for a split second, then hands the rope to Hanna, who still hasn’t stopped screaming. Once Hanna is safely out, the rope is tossed to Alison, who pulls herself out immediately, and has the presence of mind to find another rope, which she tosses to Emily while the shadowy Good Samaritan rescues Spencer. Alison and Emily team up to help Caleb, and when they’re all panting and mud splattered, but at least on solid ground again, their savior pushes his hood back. He’s far handsomer than any of his pictures. At the moment he looks like a soggy version of George Clooney.

Emily considers the faint pinching at the corners of her mouth that show Alison’s smile is forced. But she carries it off well, under the circumstances. “Girls,” she says, unable to quite meet Emily’s eyes, “This is my husband, Dr. Joseph Rollins.”


	13. End Run

It’s nearly 11pm, and the storm has finally blown itself out. Emily is standing by the window in Mike’s old bedroom, feeling jittery. What she really needs is a pool, she thinks, where she could swim laps until things started to make sense. Or, at least until she got tired enough to sleep. 

Despite everything that’s happened, she feels too keyed up to go to bed. She has too many thoughts racing through her brain. The whole history of her relationship - the one she lived through - has been rewritten. Alison has a daughter. Wren is some kind of sociopathic chameleon. Cece might be dead. Melissa might be having an affair with Rollins, who seemed nice enough when he was saving their lives. She thinks of Alison hugging her goodbye, whispering “Please don’t decide it was a mistake,” as the living room curtain flicked, as if her husband was keeping an eye on them. She thinks about their kiss, then decides she’d better not.

She knocks on Aria’s bedroom door. Aria is sitting cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Hey,” Emily says. “Do you want to go for a run?”

Aria looks completely startled by this proposition. “I like to save my running for when my life is in danger,” she answers. “Why don’t you ask Spencer? Or Hanna?”

“I’m asking you,” Emily says. “You don’t think you get to decide what’s best for me, like Hanna. And you’re not going to give me an earful about how Alison can’t be trusted, while acting pretty damn shady yourself, like Spencer.”

“I did let my PETA membership lapse,” Aria tells her. “If you’re keeping track.”

“Look, I’d go by myself,” Emily says. “But it’s after dark and there’s a psychopath on the loose. Or psychopaths.”

“You’re not doing a great job selling this,” Aria informs her. “I don’t even know if I have tennis shoes here,” but she starts rummaging through her closet to look.

“You’re a good friend,” Emily says.

Ten minutes later, they are outside, Aria wearing an old pair of mismatched Converse and an old headband she found from Jake’s dojo. “It’s athletic wear,” she informed Emily. “It works.”

Emily is jogging in place as Aria clutches a stitch in her side. “Couldn’t we power walk, maybe?” she suggests.

“We’re not even to the end of the block yet,” Emily protests. Then, remembering that Aria didn’t even want to do this in the first place, she relents. “Sure,” she tells her. “Power walking is a really great work out.”

Aria grins, and they start power walking through the rain washed streets.

“So, you and Ali, huh?” Aria asks.

“Maybe,” Emily says. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Do you think Spencer is going to try to get in touch with Ezra?” Aria asks.

“Yes,” Emily answers. 

Aria sighs. “What do you think is up with her, anyway? I caught the end of another one of her phone calls, and she was totally using sexy voice. Are you sure she’s not seeing Toby again on the downlow?”

“It’s not Toby,” Emily replies. “He’s engaged now. He’s building a cabin or something in Portland. He’s really happy.”

“You don’t think it’s Wren, do you?” Aria asks hesitantly.

“I wondered that, too” Emily admits. “But she’s been suspicious of him from the moment we got here.” 

“She said there was no new guy, though” Aria points out. “So maybe it’s an old one? She probably didn’t know he was evil.”

“Or she was lying,” Emily suggests. “But if it’s a new guy, why the big secret? Who else could it be, though? Andrew?” 

“Isn’t he gay now?” Aria asks. “I heard he was dating Sean Ackard.”

“Seriously?” Emily asks.

“You didn’t know?” Aria teases. “You must have missed the newsletter.”

“Must have,” Emily laughs, but then she turns down the next block to head back to the Montgomery house, picking up the pace.

“Oh, are we done?” Aria asks. “Because I could have gone, like, five more minutes at least.”

“You are so not a jock,” Emily tells her.

“I’m a jock of the mind,” Aria replies, racing her up the steps.

A quick drink of water later, Emily knocks on the door of Byron’s old room. 

“Hey,” she says when Spencer appears. “Let’s go for a run.” 

\-----

Spencer runs like she does everything in her life, competitively. She let’s Emily set the pace, but keeps herself a few strides ahead most of the time, just to show she can. Their feet sound a soothing repetitive rhythm as they slap against the road. Emily feels the endorphins coursing through her body, heart pumping, muscles stretching, the sheen of sweat on her skin. For the first time all day, she feels almost calm.

They loop the town three times in an hour before Emily slows to a jog.

“I know what’s going on with you, Spence,” she begins.

“Oh god, you do?” Spencer replies.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t talk to me about it. You’re my best friend, you know that, right?” Emily tells her.

“I was afraid you’d be upset.” Spencer tells her. “ After everything with Alison, I just didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Come on, it’s good news! You found someone who makes you happy. That’s a big deal!” Emily assures her.

“It is. And I am happy, Em. Like, stupid happy.”

“Who is she?” Emily asks.

Spencer looks stricken. “I thought you said you knew.”

“I’m fluent in gay code, okay? You say there’s no new guy, but you’re talking sexy into your phone and sneaking off to make out with someone in a pickup truck. That means there’s a new girl. You don’t need to keep it a secret, Spencer.”

“You’re a pretty good detective, you know that?” Spencer tells her.

“I learned from the best,” Emily responds, elbowing Spencer in the ribs playfully. “Now spill. Who is this mysterious lady who has swept Spencer Hastings so totally off her feet?”

Spencer bites her bottom lip, takes a deep breath before she answers. 

“It’s Paige.”


	14. Exes and Ohs

“Paige,” Emily repeats, shocked. “Paige McCullers? You and Paige McCullers?”

“You’re mad,” Spencer grimaces. “I should have told you sooner, I - “

“I’m not mad, Spence.” Emily reassures her. “It’s just - wow. Unexpected. It’s taking me a minute to wrap my mind around it.”

“We played Stanford in a field hockey tournament at the beginning of junior year,” Spencer explains. “We exchanged a couple penalties, we met up after the game, we had dinner. We had a good laugh about that time I thought she might be a sociopath. And then one thing just kind of led to another. We’ve been seeing each other on and off ever since.”

“Seriously? Spencer, that’s almost three years!”

“Three years next month, actually,” Spencer admits. “At first I thought maybe it was a one time thing. You and Ali had just broken up, which I used as my excuse for not telling you right away. And then Paige and I met up again over the holidays, and by the time I went out there for Spring Break, I knew it was serious.”

“Spring Break,” Emily nods, starting to understand what’s coming next. “Alison had just gotten married.”

“And it - it seemed like a really rough time for you. I didn’t want to make it any worse. And I felt - I don’t know - guilty, because I was so happy and you were so sad. The longer I went without telling you, the harder it was to talk to you, and then everything just kind of snowballed. It became this huge secret. And I don’t want to keep her a secret, you know? She’s smart and she’s funny and she’s kind and she gets me, and she never acts like I’m too intense.”

“She can be a little intense, herself,” Emily says with a smile.

“I know,” Spencer answers. “That’s one of the things that makes it work.”

“And come on,” Emily teases. “She’s hot.”

“Like, really hot.” Spencer laughs. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Emily puts an arm around Spencer. “I am. I promise. Everything was so crazy back then. Paige is a good person. Honestly, she deserves someone who will treat her a lot better than I did.” 

“I will. We’ve been living together in DC since graduation. We have a cat. I’m in love with her, Em.”

“Well then stop being a dummy, okay? Tell the girls. Bring her around. We can all go out for Pink Drinks or something.”

“Hanna will be so excited,” Spencer grins. “I will. God, I’m so relieved. I was afraid you’d never speak to me again.”

\---

Emily is the first one to the door when Paige shows up early the next morning, bearing a giant box of bagels and a two large cups of coffee for Spencer. Her hair is a little shorter, and she’s wearing a white t-shirt under a green gabardine jacket. She looks great, confident and happy, and Spencer runs down the stairs like a kid on Christmas morning to kiss her hello.

Hanna hugs Paige first, then the bagels. “They’re still warm,” she tells Caleb. 

As they head off to find plates and napkins, Emily is left standing in the living room with Spencer and Paige. 

“So you’re coaching now?” Paige asks Emily, breaking the ice. “At USC?”

“I’m just an assistant,” Emily tells her. “I love it, but it’s one step up from the guy who cleans the pool.”

“But an important step,” Paige says, grinning. “It’s really good to see you, Emily.”

“You too,” Emily tells her. “What are you doing in DC?”

“She’s a field director for GLSEN,” Spencer says, proudly.

“A job I may or may not have gotten because Veronica Hastings called in a favor,” Paige says, an arm around Spencer’s waist. “Don’t tell anyone, but those Hastings can be a pushy bunch. They never take no for an answer.”

“Come on, you love it,” Spencer says, running a hand through Paige’s hair affectionately. She looks more relaxed than Emily has ever seen her. She literally can’t stop smiling.

Everyone laughs at Aria’s complete non-reaction when she comes down for breakfast. “Is that all?” she asks Spencer. “Give me a bagel.”

“I broke them in for you,” Emily tells Spencer. 

“Thanks for that,” Spencer replies.

Alison is the last to arrive, and she visibly bristles at the sight of Paige sitting between Spencer and Emily on the couch.

“Paige,” she says, hitting the ‘P’ sound so hard that Emily is already bracing for her to say Pigskin. It’s a trick that only Alison could pull off, to hit someone with an unspoken insult while not actually saying anything offensive or wrong. “What are you doing here?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. “Alison,” she says, “You haven’t changed a bit. Congrats on the wedding by the way.”

Alison shoots an unmistakably jealous look at Emily, then relaxes as she sees Spencer drape an arm across Paige’s shoulders. “She’s with me, Ali,” Spencer says, in a take no prisoners tone that makes her sound like her mother. “Play nice.”

“I always do,” Alison responds, the picture of innocence. “What’s the plan for today?” She comes over and perches on the arm of the couch next to Emily, resting her hand casually next to Emily’s so that their pinkies touch.

Hanna stands up, wearing one of Spencer’s beanies, holding an old radio antenna in her hand. 

“Spencer has agreed to let me be in charge. For today,” Hanna explains. “As you can see, I have the beanie.” She looks around, swinging the antenna so that it makes a whistling noise in the air.

“Alison, you and Caleb will work together. Give him every alias you can remember Wren Kingston using, and any details he gave you about where he’d lived or what he’d done. Even if most of it was bullshit, it might help us track him. Some of those names he might have used before or since.” She swooshes the pointer in Caleb’s direction and almost hits him in the nose.

“Our wireless thingamajigs are active this morning at both New Directions and Wren’s office. Aria, you and I will sift through as much information as we can from those sources, making note of anything that might be relevant. While doing this, we will also sit on soft pillows while catching up on Project Runway.”

“This is my favorite assignment ever,” Aria says. “I like Hanna being the leader.”

“Spencer, Emily, and Paige will be in the field pursuing an independent line of inquiry. And having lunch with Melissa. We will reconvene this evening, and go out for Pink Drinks.” 

She looks around at the group, who continue to look at her. “That’s all!” she says. “Get to it, people!”

There is a general shuffling, as Caleb gathers his computer equipment and heads to the dining room, where he wants to set up a command post. Aria goes off to find pillows, and Emily runs upstairs to grab her jacket, getting ready to head out with Spencer and Paige.

The moment Emily walks into Mike’s room, Alison is suddenly behind her. “So what’s your independent investigation?” she asks, taking Emily’s hand. “I was kind of hoping we’d be on the same team today.”

“Me too,” Emily admits. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but it’s probably about Melissa.” She pauses. “They’re waiting for me downstairs.”

“Let them wait,” Ali suggests, leaning forward and kissing Emily slowly and deliberately.

\-----

Spencer already has the car running by the time Emily slides into the back seat a few minutes later. She glances at Emily in the rearview mirror and laughs. “Either she cut your throat, or she got lipstick on your neck, Em.”

Emily fishes a tissue out of her purse and wipes the lipstick off, but she can’t help grinning a little, in spite of herself. Part of her is already thinking beyond the current mystery, to a future when she and Alison could maybe get their timing right. 

“Where are we headed?” she asks.

Paige hands her a file, and begins to explain. “We were able to get some data from New Directions yesterday afternoon,” she says. “And we learned that Charlotte’s transfer paperwork indicated she was heading to the Tree Tops Mental Health Center.”

“Right,” Emily replies. “Wasn’t that the fake transfer paperwork that Ali gave them yesterday?”

“Fake transfer, real patient,” Paige says. “They had copies of an intake form from last week.”

“We’re not sure what it means, yet,” Spencer continues. “But it explains why the police haven’t already been involved. Charlotte’s being institutionalized right now isn’t voluntary, so if she up and disappears I’m sure they would be notified, whether Alison wanted them involved or not.”

“So do you think we’re going to get to this place and find Charlotte?” Emily asks. “Like it would be that easy?”

“I don’t know if we’ll find Charlotte,” Spencer says. “But we might find someone who knows something about her disappearance. Caleb hacked in and put the three of us on her approved visitors list.”

Tree Tops is a sedate looking facility, with a bit of a run down mansion look from the outside. Big columns with peeling paint, Emily thinks.

They sign in at the visitors desk, and an aide points them towards a room where a small circle of patients are having art therapy.

“Charlotte should be in there, now,” she tells them, pointing. “But you might want to tread lightly with her. She hasn’t quite settled in yet.”

The three of them walk towards the art room, where a thin woman with shoulder length blonde hair is painting a picture of a girl in a bright red coat. It’s Charlotte, Emily thinks, they’ve really found her.

“Ms. DiLaurentis, you have some visitors. Isn’t that nice?” The nurse cajoles her.

The woman turns to face them, and emits a high pitched hysterical sounding laugh. Her laugh doesn’t even sound human, it’s like a the sound of a wild jackal crying. 

Paige looks puzzled, but Spencer and Emily exchange stunned glances. 

It’s not Charlotte. It’s Sara Harvey.


	15. Fool Me Once

Sara Harvey won’t stop laughing, it’s like she’s a broken jack-in-the-box toy that keeps playing the same music over and over, even after the clown has already popped out.

“Why don’t you all head to a private visiting room?” the nurse suggests, taking Sara by the arm and leading them out of the art room, where the maniacal noise is clearly agitating the other patients.

Once they’re settled in a nearby lounge, Sara’s laughter has quieted to little bursts of giggly hiccups. 

“I’m sorry,” the nurse tells them. “As I said, she’s had some trouble settling in. Her visitation is quite limited right now, so I’ll be back in 15 minutes to take her on to lunch.”

The moment the nurse is gone, Emily leans forward and stares hard into her eyes. “Sara?” she says. trying to keep her voice steady. She hasn’t actually seen Sara Harvey since the night of the Rosewood prom. Now that she thinks about it, they never really had a break up talk. Then again, knocking someone out cold after they turn out to be conspiring with your worst enemy seemed good enough at the time. 

Sara stops laughing and gives them all a sullen stare. 

“Sara,” Emily tries again. “What are you doing here?”

“As if you don’t know,” Sara responds angrily.

“We’re trying to find Charlotte,” Spencer cuts in. “Do you know where she is?”

“Right in front of you, according to the admission forms,” Sara says bitterly. “Funny thing about mental hospitals, insisting you’re not who they think you are doesn’t convince anyone. It just gets you new meds.”

Emily is vaguely aware of Paige whispering something to Spencer and then slipping out the door down the hallway. 

“They think you’re her?” Emily tries to clarify. “Sara, we can help you, insist they check your fingerprints or your dental records or something.”

“You expect me to believe you want to help me?” Sara sneers. “Besides, you know how she works,” she mutters, darkly. “I’ve been here five days. Plenty of time for her to alter every record that exists.”

“Let’s be clear,” Spencer suggests. “You’re saying Charlotte put you in here under her name?”

“I guess,” Sara answers, noncommittally. 

Emily stares hard into Sara’s eyes, looking for any sign of the person she once cared about. Did she always looked this unhinged, Emily wonders. “Listen to me,” Emily tells her. “We know who you are. Unless you’re expecting a parade of other people who believe that you’re not Charlotte DiLaurentis to come through here and offer to help you, you’d better quit stalling and start helping us.”

Sara’s face falls as she considers Emily’s words. “Alright,” she says. “When I saw you come in, I thought maybe you were in on it.”

“In on what, exactly?” Spencer asks.

“Whatever’s going on!” Sara exclaims. “Why I’m in here, why she’s not! I haven’t even seen that bitch for five years--not since that night at Radley--but then I wake up in here with her name on my wristband and everyone calling me Ms. DiLaurentis in their most patronizing voices.”

“What do you mean, you woke up here?” Emily presses.

“I must have been drugged,” Sara tells her. “How I got here is a total blank.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?” asks Spencer.

“I was at speed dating,” Sara replies. “At the Brew.”

“Speed dating?” Emily asks, feeling surprise even in the middle of the already surprising circumstances.

“I was looking for someone,” Sara says, cryptically. “I was drinking a soy latte, which must have come with a side of GHB. The next thing I knew, I was here on the funny farm, eating jello cups and having art therapy.”

“What about your mom?” Emily asks. “Or your friend Claire? We could get in touch with them, have them come and identify you and explain that this is all some kind of mistake.”

There is a split second when one corner of Sara’s mouth twitches into a half-smirk, but then she looks at Emily with watery eyes and a trembling lip. “They never cared about me like you did, Emily,” she says, her voice gravelly with emotion. “You made me feel so safe. Sometimes I think you were my one chance at happiness. I still think about you all the time, whether we could have built something real if only I’d been honest with you.”

Emily stares at her with furrowed eyebrows, her mouth open in disbelief as her emotions get stuck in a gear somewhere between pity and horror. 

Then Sara starts shrieking with laughter again. “And you fall for it every time!” she exclaims, malevolently, gasping for air as she bends nearly double with perverse mirth. Her laughter is rising to a hysterical pitch, coming out in staccato bursts like machine gun fire. “Does this mean we’re not getting back together?” she asks, so amused that her laugh transforms into a kind of banshee wail.

Spencer slaps her across the face, hard. Hard enough for Sara to go mercifully silent. 

“What?” Spencer says to Emily. “Why should you get to have all the fun?”


	16. Hide and Seek

“Claire must have changed her number,” Emily reports, as the three of them walk towards the restaurant where Melissa Hastings is about to meet Spencer for lunch. “I’ll have to try and dig up an address for Sara’s mom.”

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” Spencer observes, pulling open the door. “She’s not Charlotte, but she is crazy.”

The Rain Forest Cafe is resolutely trying to transform one of Rosewood’s old doll factories into a trendy eatery. So far, this seems to mean the introduction of a pricy menu, the addition of several skylights to increase the natural light, and an abundance of fake foliage that includes curtains of ivy, jurassic sized ferns, and sinister looking topiaries scattered throughout the dining room.

“It’s as if they’ve never seen a real forest before,” Paige observes, returning from the counter with overpriced sandwiches and salads in hand.

“I can’t decide whether the topiaries are more or less creepy than the dolls,” Emily says, as she and Paige sit down on one side of a massive leafy creature that looks vaguely like a rabbit, or possibly a bear.

“Creepier,” Spencer opines, from her table on the other side of the topiary, where she is waiting for Melissa. “What is this one, a rat?”

Emily makes some small adjustments to the decor, relocating a fern to screen them further from sight. “I think we’re good,” she says. “It looks like no one’s here but Spencer and the giant rat-bear-bunny.”

“Does Melissa know about the two of you?” Emily asks, curious.

“Yes,” Spencer’s disembodied voice says through the leaves. “The first year I took Paige home for Christmas, Melissa tried to kiss her under the stairway.”

“She was drunk,” Paige laughs. “And there was mistletoe.”

“That she was holding,” Spencer responds, indignant. 

“Hey,” Emily says, “this whole Rollins and Melissa affair, plus all the pictures of Wren and his teenage harem - are we sure this isn’t just some 50 Shades of Rosewood thing?”

“Pretty sure,” Spencer replies, “But if Ali and her husband corner you in an elevator to talk about how their tastes are very singular, I’d be willing to reconsider my answer.”

“Eww.” Emily responds. “I have enough issues with elevators already.” The thought of Alison’s husband makes her tap her foot on the floor with nervous energy. It’s becoming way too easy to forget about him when she thinks about Alison. She has a brief memory of Talia Sandoval’s husband, awkward and angry. She thinks about that twitch of Sara’s mouth, the sound of her laughter. “You don’t think Sara was right, do you?” she asks.

“That girl is cuckoo for cocopuffs,” Spencer tells her. “I don’t think you should be looking to her for emotional insight.” She pauses, before continuing, taking time to choose her words as carefully as possible. “You have a generous heart, Em. I do think you should be….cautious….about things with Alison until we have a better sense of what’s going on.”

“Can I say something here?” Paige asks.

“Of course,” Emily tells her.

“When we were in high school, as soon as you found out Alison was alive, no one else stood a chance with you,” Paige observes. “Not really.”

Emily nods. “It was nothing personal,” she assures Paige. “Samira Wiley wouldn’t have stood a chance with me once Ali was back.”

“Kate Upton wouldn’t have stood a chance with you,” Spencer chimes in.

“Serena Williams wouldn’t have stood a chance with you,” Paige agrees.

Emily considers this for a moment. “If Serena Williams called, I wouldn’t have hung up,” she says with a small smile. “But you get the point.”

“It’s just,” Paige says, “It seems like maybe it’s still like that with you. It’s not my place to say, but maybe no one is ever going to stand a chance with you until Ali is totally out of your system. And she’s not yet.”

“Wait, are you Team Alison now?” Emily asks. “You always hated her.”

“Oh no, I still think she’s a selfish disaster of a person,” Paige clarifies. “And you’d probably be safer swimming to Cuba without a shark cage than letting yourself fall in love with her again. She’s a master manipulator. She’s married. But she’s also a mistake you’re not done making.”

“You should listen to her,” Spencer says, from the other side of the rat topiary. “She’s a smart one.” 

“On the other hand,” Paige offers, “After checking Sara Harvey’s chart, it looks like Alison is not actually your craziest ex-girlfriend. So that’s something.”

“I didn’t mean to get that serious with Sara,” Emily defends herself. “ I was trying to check her neck for a microchip, and it got all hot and heavy.”

“Our problems are not like other people’s problems,” Spencer observes. “Now shush - Melissa’s outside parking her car.”

Melissa Hastings walks in, heels clacking across the floor, a hint of Chanel No. 5 swirling in the air around her. 

“Spencer!” Emily hears her say, with what sounds like genuine warmth in her voice. “What are you doing here? I thought you were toiling away in DC, gearing up Senator Casey’s re-election campaign!”

“I can toil here, too,” Spencer tells her. “I’m doing a little field work, back door polling, that kind of thing.”

“And Hanna and Emily and Aria are in town, too?” Melissa asks, “Wren said he ran into you guys two nights ago. You’re not going to try and tell me they’re helping you poll, too, are you? I mean, I know they’re your friends, but can Hanna even count?”

“She can count,” Spencer says. “We all had light schedules this month, so we’re taking some time to catch up, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Melissa says, clearly disbelieving. “Has Alison seen Emily?” she asks in a tone that implies casual gossip. “I hear she and her husband are on the rocks.”

“Please,” Spencer answers. “That’s ancient history now.” Emily decides not to take offense at this, as everything out of Spencer’s mouth so far -- with the possible exception of Hanna counting -- has been a lie. 

“I like the haircut,” Spencer says, changing the subject. “You look so much like Mom.” Emily has time to briefly wonder whether Spencer intends this as a compliment or an insult, before Melissa responds.

“I know, it’s great,” she enthuses. “You should see the service I get at the club - it’s incredible. The staff are completely terrified of me, and I don’t have to do a thing.”

“How’s the remodel going?” Spencer asks. “I hear you’re doing a lot to the backyard.”

“No, you know that I’m doing a lot to the backyard because you and your friends went snooping with shovels last night,” Melissa says, her voice a mixture of friendliness and hostility. “Joseph Rollins sent us a note apologizing for trampling the flower beds. Now cut the crap, Spencer - what’s going on?” 

“How well do you know Dr. Rollins?” Spencer asks her, going with the patented Hastings trick of answering a question with a question.

“Well enough,” Melissa answers, sounding annoyed. “He lives next door. He’s one of Wren’s partners. He’s supposed to be brilliant, but if he’s really that smart, I’m not sure he would have married Alison. Is that what this is about? Did she call you in to do your teen detective routine so she can find grounds for a divorce or something?”

“Are there grounds for a divorce?” Spencer asks. “Like, any that you would know of - personally?”

“Why are you talking in riddles?” Melissa demands. “You’re my sister, Spencer! Why don’t you try trusting me for a change?”

“Melissa,” Spencer says, her voice earnest. “I’m worried about you, okay? I’m afraid you might be in danger.”

“I can take care of myself,” Melissa responds. “And maybe I can help you, too, Spence. Just tell me what it is you think you know.”

Spencer seems to hesitate, to waver between her plan and her instincts. “Have you ever thought,” she asks Melissa, “that Wren might not be who he seems?”

“You mean aside from the time I caught him making out with my kid sister?” Melissa snarks.

“No, I mean literally - have you ever thought he might be a different person.” Spencer says urgently. 

“What are you talking about, Spencer?” Melissa responds, but even through the plant material, there is a new note in her voice. Panic, maybe. If she wasn’t Melissa Hastings, Emily would almost identify it as fear.

“When you were in England,” Spencer presses on, “did you meet his family? Has he ever used a different name, or done anything to make you think he might not be British?”

Listen to me,” Melissa says, her voice dropping to the gravelly danger level. “We’re not kids anymore, Spencer! This isn’t a game of hide and seek! You need to drop this, right now. You and your little friends need to drop the Nancy Drew routine and go back to your normal lives while you still can.”

“Are you threatening me?” Spencer asks in disbelief.

“Do I need to?” Melissa asks. “Because people will get hurt, Spencer. People you love.”

Emily hears a chair scrape, imagines Melissa standing to pull on her coat. “Good to see you Spencer,” she says as she stalks out. “Now please, get the hell out of town.”


	17. Shaking the Tree

“Forget fashion,” Hanna says the moment the three of them return to Aria’s house. “Therapists make bank in this town.”

“We’ve got a Sara Harvey run in, and some sisterly threats from Melissa to report,” Spencer tells her. “What about you?”

“Oooh, we have billing records for Sara Harvey in here,” Hanna tells them. “For her and basically all of Rosewood's Greatest Hits. Shana Fring. Leslie Stone. Kate Randall. Meredith Sorenson. Jackie Molina. Sydney Driscoll. And last but not least, Linda Tanner. Who even knew she had a first name?”

“Is it just me, or does that sound a lot like a laundry list of everyone who’s ever tried to kill us?” Emily asks. 

“It’s like a Ponzi scheme of crazy,” Spencer agrees.

“We’ve found a few familiar names who haven’t tried to murder us, too,” Aria chimes in. “Cindy and Mindy - how the heck can they be in therapy, do they even talk? And Maya St. Germain.”

“Maya?” Emily asks, stunned to hear her name come up, after all this time. She has a flash memory of Maya’s smile in the photo booth, the feel of her hand lifting the hem of Emily’s skirt. 

“The scheduling software only shows one appointment for her,” Hanna explains. “But she and her parents met with Joseph Rollins before she got shipped off to True North. It might not mean anything, but you never know.”

“So Rollins has been practicing in Rosewood for what, seven years?” Emily asks.

“Nine years,” Aria corrects her. “Alison says he was in Philadelphia before that. And Wren--or whatever his name is--used to consult on cases for him before he joined the practice officially. There are a few complaints about him, it looks like, mostly accusations of inappropriate behavior with young girls. Nothing on Rollins, he seems like a pretty upstanding guy. Except for one run in with the ethics board six and a half years ago, but it looks like whatever it was about, he was cleared.”

“The counselor of my enemies is my enemy,” Spencer says. “That’s not actually in The Art of War, but I think it’s implied.”

“Do they treat any male patients?” Paige asks, curiously. “It seems odd that all the names so far are women.”

“We’ve only found one guy so far,” Hanna responds. “But he’s a repeat coincidence. Eddie Lamb.”

“Wow,” Spencer says, impressed. “Good work.”

“Thank you,” Hanna says, beaming graciously. “They don’t have any transcripts of sessions or case files loaded onto the mainframe. But once we have an idea of what we’re looking for, we can maybe plan a little after hours evidence retrieval.”

“And I’ve got a few tidbits from the New Directions servers,” Aria adds. “It’s not much, but all of the staff notes do sound like Charlotte was really improving. And in addition to the mysterious Estella DiLaurentis, there’s at least one other name on her visitors log that’s clearly a fake.”

“Well?” Spencer says expectantly. “Who is it?”

“E. Varjack,” Aria replies. “At first I thought it had to be E. Lamb, right? But we already know he’s working there, so he wouldn’t need to sign in with a fake name to talk to Charlotte.” She sighs. “I wonder if it’s Ezra.”

“Do you think he’s gearing up for a sequel?” Paige asks. “He’s been doing the rounds on all the talk shows since the Grand burned down.”

“Could be,” Spencer nods. “He’s a person of interest. Or his files are, at the very least.”

“Do you have any emergency contact information for Sara Harvey in there?” Emily asks. “An address or a phone number for her mom or anything?”

“Sure thing,” Hanna nods, jotting down a phone number and address on a piece of scrap paper. “Her prescriptions get sent to a house over on Mockingbird. Please tell me it’s not a social call, I can only glare at so many of your ex-girlfriends before my face is going to freeze that way.”

“Maybe some of my ex-girlfriends wouldn’t be my ex-girlfriends if it wasn’t for you,” Emily bristles. “I love you and I didn’t want you to die in muddy quicksand, but that doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”

“Sorry,” Hanna apologizes. “I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot, honest.” Emily nods, brusquely, dialing the number. It goes to an automated voice mail almost immediately.

“Hi, my name is Emily Fields,” she says. “I need to speak with you about Sara Harvey. It’s urgent, please call me back.”  
“Emily wants to help Sara Harvey be freed from being wrongfully committed under Charlotte’s name,” Spencer explains. “Despite the fact that she’s an ill-mannered lunatic.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all,” Hanna replies, rolling her eyes.

Alison and Caleb emerge from the dining room, looking a little tired of each other’s company.

“That was exhausting,” Alison says dramatically, flopping down on the couch and leaning against Emily. Emily feels happy like she used to, back when touching Alison was only sometimes permitted - a friendship bracelet clasped on here, a dress zipped up there. Then she pauses, wondering if this really is the exact same mistake she’s been making since she was fourteen years old. It feels so similar, the tides of love and mistrust crashing around inside of her, pulled by the particular gravity of Alison.

“What did you find out?” Hanna asks.

“I’m not sure whether he’s a real doctor,” Caleb announces. “It took some serious work, but I got into Oxford’s database, and there’s no record of a Wren Kingston having graduated. They do have a record of a Wren Kim from around the same time that our Wren claims to have been there, and Wren Kim did apply to medical school here in the States. But it seems like Wren Kim disappeared without a trace the summer before his coursework would have started over here. I’m guessing that Wren Kingston forged some paperwork and took over his identity, but we can’t prove it. Yet.”

“We also found an Earl Winthrop who went missing in a boating accident,” Alison adds. “What did you guys find out from Melissa?”

“She knows something,” Spencer confirms. “But she’s not sharing her secrets with us. She was so busy threatening me, she barely touched her salad.”

“I’m not sure how any of this is getting us closer to finding Charlotte,” Alison says, sounding frustrated. “We have all these leads, but how do they tie together?”

“This is what it’s like,” Spencer tells her. “We keep shaking the tree until something comes loose. Hopefully something that makes sense.”

“I’ve had enough shaking for one day,” Alison declares. “Walk me home, Em?”

Emily sees the bemused look that Paige and Spencer exchange, the exasperated look that Hanna’s doing her best to conceal. Trying to figure things out with Alison in front of her friends is like being in a play with a greek chorus, she thinks. “Sure,” she agrees, following Alison out the door.

As soon as they’re outside, Emily notices Alison’s car parked down the street. “Why am I walking you home if you drove here?” she asks.

“Come on,” Alison says, unlocking the door. “They need some private time to talk about whether I can be trusted, and I need some private time with you. Get in.”

Emily is buckling her seatbelt as Alison pulls out. “I’m having a weird day,” she tells Alison.

“This is Rosewood,” Alison replies. “Every day is a weird day.”

“It’s like a ghosts of ex-girlfriends past marathon,” Emily tells her. “Spencer’s dating Paige. We had an unexpected Sara Harvey sighting. There might be a connection to Maya somewhere in all of this.” She looks around, as Alison parks in a deserted lot on the edge of the lake. “And now you’re bringing me out here where no one will hear me scream.”

“I hate Sara Harvey,” Alison says bitterly, grabbing a bag from the backseat as she gets out of the car. “Those stupid evil puppydog eyes of hers. And I don’t like Paige being here either,” she sighs. “She’s this living breathing reminder of all the shitty things I’ve done. Only now that reminder is cuddling up to Spencer on the couch.” 

“You shouldn’t hold it against Paige that you were horrible to her,” Emily says. “Besides, you’re not the same person anymore.” 

“I love that you believe that,” Alison says, taking Emily by the arm and leading her into the woods. “Do you really think of me as an ex-girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Emily answers, a little baffled by the question. 

“I never think of you like that,” Alison muses. “I just think of you as Emily.”

Pushing a branch out of the way, Emily ponders whether this is Alison’s way of saying that she never stopped caring about her, or whether Alison has never considered anyone her ex, seeing as how she could generally get them all back with a wave of her hand, a quick tug on their heartstrings. As she has this thought, she realizes exactly where Alison is leading her. 

They’re already on the edge of the clearing. It’s the Kissing Rock.

“What are we doing here?” Emily asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Alison grins, producing a fleece blanket from the bag, which she spreads across the damp ground to sit on. Emily sits down next to her, trying not to hear the voice of her better judgement (a voice that always sounds like a cross between her mom and Spencer Hastings) alerting her to what a bad idea this is.  


Alison pushes Emily lightly to the ground and starts kissing her immediately. This time her kisses are hungry and aggressive, her hands roaming up and down Emily’s body as she rolls on top of her. At any other moment in her life, any of the moments before this one, Emily would have believed herself powerless against the onslaught of Alison. Especially as Ali shifts on top of her, reaching a hand down to unbutton Emily’s jeans.

Emily breaks the kiss, uses her muscles to disentangle herself from Alison’s body. 

“Alison,” she says. “No.”

“Why not?” Alison asks, “You can’t tell me it doesn’t feel right.”

“It always feels right with you,” Emily admits. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a mistake.”

Alison closes her eyes as if she’s in pain at the sound of Emily’s words. Then she pulls herself together. “I brought paint,” she says, sadly. “I thought we could repaint our initials.”

Emily watches her shake a can of spray paint, retracing the faintest outline of where the heart with their initials used to be. This is what Alison wants, Emily thinks to herself. She wants to paint over the past. It only takes a minute, and then it’s done. 

“My heart is a little misshapen,” Alison apologizes. “But maybe it was always like that.”

Emily looks at the letters, EF + AD. The red paint is still wet, glistening in the afternoon light so that it almost looks like blood. Alison stands next to her, slips her hand into Emily’s.

“Those aren’t even your initials, anymore.” Emily points out. 

“I can change it, if you want,” Alison says, with a look that could mean she’s not talking about the rock, exactly.

“That’s not my decision to make, Ali. At least for now, it is what it is. You’re still married. And we’re still broken up.”

They walk back to the car in silence, never seeing the hooded figure who steps out of the shadows, picks up the can of spray paint, and angrily paints over their initials, crossing them out with violent strokes until nothing is left visible, until the entire side of the rock is bleeding red.


	18. Dance with the Devil You Know

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” Emily says as the Liars approach the entrance to Rumors, Rosewood’s only lesbian bar. 

“It’s nothing to write home about,” Paige assures her.

“Speak for yourself,” Hanna says, hiking up her skirt, which Emily notices looks a lot like the one from her Britney Spears costume. 

They’ve been inside for about three minutes when they’re approached by a gray haired lesbian in a motorcycle jacket with the words “Lone Wolf” emblazoned on the back. 

Hanna primps her hair a bit in anticipation, but it’s Caleb the Wolf Woman pulls aside. “You look just like my grandson,” she says. She motions across the bar to a few other leather jacketed women who are gathered around the pool table. “Marge,” she shouts. “Doesn’t he look just like my grandson?” And just like that, Caleb is subsumed into the wolf pack, waving apologetically at Hanna as he’s drafted into a game of pool. 

Hanna frowns, looking a bit sullen. “I’ll get the first round,” Aria offers, patting Hanna on the back as she heads off towards the bar.

“Five raspberry flirtinis, and a pink lemonade for the designated driver,” she orders. The bartender begins to make the drinks, and Aria spends her time looking around the room before her eyes land on a familiar face drinking alone at the end of the bar, wearing sunglasses and smoking a clove cigarette despite the clearly posted “No Smoking” signs. 

She hesitates a moment before approaching.

“Hey Jenna,” she says. “ It’s Aria. Montgomery.”

Jenna takes off her dark glasses. “I know. I can see you.”

“Oh! Great,” Aria exclaims. “It’s kind of hard to keep track, you know. And you were still wearing those glasses.”

“They’re just a style accessory these days,” Jenna tells her.

“So, how’ve you been? Other than not blind anymore?” Aria asks.

“I’ve been fine,” Jenna answers. “I teach an art class three nights a week at Hollis. What are you doing here, Aria?”

“We’re having Pink Drinks,” Aria explains, as the bartender puts a tray full of drinks in front of her.

“No, I mean in Rosewood,” Jenna clarifies. “ What’s going on that Alison needs her old posse back?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Aria answers. “We just wanted to spend some time catching up.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar, Aria,” Jenna says. “ But come back after you drop those off. I want to dance with you anyway.”

Aria speeds back to the table, and then returns, leaving an absolutely indignant Hanna in her wake.

“This place has totally gone down hill. I can’t believe Aria got asked to dance before me,” she laments.

“You can ask me to dance,” Paige offers. “Spencer might fight you.”

“I will,” Spencer promises. “Especially if you get handsy.”

“Pfft. Not the same!” Hanna says with an exasperated sigh.

“Can I ask you a question,” Paige inquires. “Did you and Mona ever….” she lets the question trail off with a raised eyebrow, a leading a hand gesture.

Hanna sips her drink regally. “A lady never kisses and tells,” she responds.

“I always wondered,” Emily says. “In hindsight, her ‘A’ totally had the vibe of a woman scorned.”

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Paige tells Spencer.

“She didn’t confirm or deny,” Spencer argues. 

“You always start talking like a lawyer when you’re drunk,” Paige observes. 

“Objection!” Spencer protests. “This is my first one,” she adds, although she is already slurping the dregs of her cup through the fancy straw. 

“You can finish mine,” Paige tells her. 

“And mine,” Alison adds, helpfully.

“Forget it, Judge Drunky,” Hanna tells her, as Spencer starts collecting glasses around her. “You aren’t taking mine unless you give me that twenty bucks to buy the next round.”

Aria and Jenna walk over, smiling. Jenna smirks at the sight of Spencer with an arm draped around Paige’s shoulders. “Spencer. Aren’t you just full of surprises.”

“Jenna,” Spencer greets her cooly. 

“Looks like the whole gang’s back together,” Jenna observes. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’re all still friends,” Alison says, with a hint of ice in her voice. “Isn’t that enough?”

Jenna stares hard at Emily and Alison, her gaze lingering on Alison’s hand resting casually on Emily’s thigh. A shorthand signal to the other women in the bar that Emily is not available. And maybe a signal to Emily, too, as she’s not wearing her wedding ring. “The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Jenna deadpans. Then she puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder, ignoring Alison altogether. “Emily Fields, I was hoping I might run into you. Can I have this dance?”

“What?” Emily says, startled.

“Dance with me,” Jenna insists. She leans forward and hisses in Emily’s ear “I need to talk to you.”

Emily allows Jenna to grab her hand and lead her away from the table, only peripherally aware of the scathing look Alison is shooting at them.

Jenna, it turns out, is an extremely good dancer. She dances close to Emily, one arm thrown over her shoulder, the other wrapped around her waist. There is something almost reptilian in the way she moves her hips.

“I’ was going to ask you to dance at that stupid Halloween party,” Jenna tells her, shouting a little to be heard over the music. “When you wore that Indian Princess outfit and wouldn’t stop staring at me. But then you and your friends all disappeared together.”

“I liked your costume,” Emily says.

“I looked like Alison,” Jenna replies.

“A little. But your wig was better.”

“It totally was.” Jenna laughs. “What if I’d followed you outside that night, asked you to walk down by the lake with me?”

“Are you flirting with me? Retroactively?” Emily asks, smiling a little.

“You don’t seem to mind,” Jenna replies, amused. Then she casts a dark look over Emily’s shoulder. “Alison minds, though. She always does. Tell me the truth, Emily. Why are you back?”

“What’s it to you, Jenna?” Emily asks, halfway between curiosity and habitual antagonism.

Jenna looks impatient. “There are things I should have told you back then,” she declares. “I knew Alison before I came to town - “

The, as if summoned by the sound of her name, Alison is suddenly behind her, pulling Jenna away. “I’m cutting in, now,” she says, in a dismissive authoritarian tone that belongs to an Ali that Emily hasn’t seen since the summer before she disappeared. The imperious tone of the queen, the one that says this is a woman who takes what she wants, and if you don’t like it, she doesn’t give a single fuck. A little thrill runs down Emily’s spine. 

Jenna moves away with a shake of her head, and Alison slides in to take her place as Emily’s dance partner. 

“She was about to tell me something important,” Emily protests.

“Yeah, about how much she wants to taste your cherry chapstick this time,” Alison scowls. “I’m not amused.”

There’s a light in her eyes, a mixture of desire and competition and recklessness, as she runs her hands over her own body, then over Emily’s, under her short leather jacket, over her white t-shirt. Alison pulls them closer, pressing her whole body against Emily, one hand wrapped behind Emily’s neck and one hand on her ass, as Alison slides them together with the beat of the music. Emily wishes it felt less electric.

“Are you really trying to tell me that you don’t want this?” Alison asks, her breath hot against Emily’s ear.

“I don’t want to have you just to lose you again,” Emily says.

Alison looks at her in surprise, but before she can respond, Jenna is back, physically pulling Emily backward out of Alison’s embrace.

She whispers in Emily’s ear, “Leave with me. Right now. Please, Emily. I’m the only one left alive to warn you.”

“I’m leaving,” Emily announces. 

“Sorry, Mrs. Rollins,” Jenna says, not sounding sorry at all. 

\-----

“What was that about?” Emily asks, once they’re outside.

“I spent years being a scheming bitch, Emily. Let me use my skills for the greater good,” Jenna tells her. “Trust me, it will make Alison crazy.”

“Is that all?” Emily asks. “That’s ridiculous. You could have had your pick of the ladies in there tonight.”

“Please, I walked out with Emily Fields, Rosewood’s Lesbian Legend,” Jenna says.

“You’re making me blush,” Emily replies.

“That’s part of your charm. So modest, like you have no idea how many women in this town still fantasize about you.” Seeing that Emily is blushing even more, Jenna shakes her head and motions towards her old Mustang. “Come on,” she says. “I wasn’t lying. I really do have things to tell you. Just not here.”

Minutes later, they are pulling up to a house Emily vaguely remembers as being derelict, although it’s now completely fixed up, if still a little gothic looking from the outside. Jenna turns on the lights as they enter, exposing a homey interior with cheerful yellow paint and a wall of snow globes.

“So what’s this about?” Emily asks. “Why all the mystery?”

“It’s a long story,” Jenna says, pouring herself a glass of whiskey that she tosses back, neat. “You might want a drink,” she adds, refilling her glass and pouring another for Emily.

“I knew Alison before I came to Rosewood,” Jenna says. “Or I knew of her. My parents knew her mother. My dad knew her mother - well.”

Emily nods, understanding that in the context of Jessica DiLaurentis that can only really mean one thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen your parents,” she tells Jenna. “I always thought that was weird, with you guys living right next door for so long.”

“I never see my dad. And Daniel always traveled a lot for business,” Jenna says of her stepfather. “My mom was in sales, so she was out of town most of the time, too,” Jenna says. “She died last year. Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily says, thinking of her dad. “That’s terrible. Toby never mentioned it”

“They weren’t exactly close,” Jenna frowns. “But thank you. It was hard on my parents. Growing up, my sister spent a lot of time in hospitals. I think they were both looking to escape that however they could.”

“Wait, you have a sister?” Emily says, startled. 

“You called here for her earlier today,” Jenna answers.

“Sara Harvey is your sister?” Emily says, downing her drink in one swallow.

Jenna refills her glass, then downs another herself.

“You know her as Sara Harvey,” she replies. “But her real name is Bethany Young.”


	19. Baby, You're a Firework

“Bethany Young is dead,” Emily protests instinctively. “Sara Harvey ran away, and got kidnapped by Charlotte. She stayed at my house. I met her friends.”

“How long have you been doing this, Emily? Living in a world where things are never what they seem? I don’t know who you met, or what Bethany told you, but my sister can be very plausible and persuasive. And also deadly.”

“Deadly?” Emily asks.

“I was telling you about my parents,” Jenna says, taking up the narrative again. “It was difficult for them, having a child who needed so much more care and attention than they could provide. Honestly, I don’t think any more time or love or treatment would have made any difference. One of my earliest memories is from when I was three years old - Bethany is two years older - and I went into my room and Bethany had clawed out the eyes of my favorite doll. I started to cry, and my mother tried to hand me a different doll, but Bethany had clawed the eyes out of that one, too. She mutilated every single doll that I owned.” She pauses. “I had nightmares about that for years.”

“When I was in first grade, we went to the library together. I was still learning how to read, I wanted to check out a book called “Detective Mole.” And the librarian was this really friendly old lady who always wore sweaters with pictures of cats on knitted on them. Bethany was trying to check out “Flowers in the Attic,” but the librarian said she couldn’t, that its themes were ‘too mature for a seven year old.’ Bethany wouldn’t let us go home, she made me hide in the bushes with her, and when the librarian came out to go home, she shoved me under the car so that I’d be run over. Broke my arm. I couldn’t stop crying. I told my parents as soon as we got home, but Bethany said I was making up stories, and they believed her. Or they would have, if she hadn’t also set my bed on fire that night, to get me back. That was the first time I remember her being sent away.”

“After that, it always happened the same way. We would visit her at various mental hospitals, and after awhile the doctors would give her the okay to come home. She can be very charming, and she knew how to give them the answers they wanted to hear. So she would come home and act fine for as long as she could manage it. She would sit on my mother’s lap and say how much she loved her. She would braid my hair. She would kiss my dad’s cheek before he left for work in the morning. But then she’d get frustrated or irate or maybe just bored, and then she’d stab the babysitter with a knife, or bludgeon the old man who lived next door with an old croquet mallet. We moved a lot. My parents didn’t know what to do. They were embarrassed. And terrified someone would catch on. Eventually, they changed her last name from Marshall to Young, and had her committed to Radley, permanently. ”

She puts her head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s been so long since I talked to anyone about this. Not since….Shana.”

Emily scoots closer to Jenna, puts an arm around her shoulder. Jenna isn’t really a person she would think of as cuddly, but the other woman leans against her. Not crying, exactly. But radiating waves of sadness and pain.

“But then, you know what it’s like,” Jenna says, the whiskey strong on her breath, “to lose a girlfriend in high school.”

“I do,” Emily says, rubbing small circles on Jenna’s back. “Where’s your kitchen, Jenna? Let me make you a cup of tea or something, okay?”

Jenna nods, and Emily stands up, turning to help Jenna pull herself up from the couch. Emily finds that she herself is a bit unsteady on her feet. As Jenna stands, she loses her balance for a moment and stumbles clumsily against Emily to keep herself upright. Emily reaches out an arm instinctively to catch her, and the next moment she feels Jenna’s lips against her own.

\------

Standing on the sidewalk outside, staring at the two of them through the lighted living room window, Alison stares at Emily and Jenna with tears in her eyes and a furious expression on her face.

\------

 

Emily breaks the kiss. “Tea,” she says. “Or maybe black coffee.”

“I know, I know. I’m not Alison. Still, you can’t blame a girl for trying,” Jenna grumbles.

“Focus,” Emily says, as they make their way to the kitchen. Emily finds a silver tea kettle and fills it with water from the tap. “So Bethany was in Radley.

"Radley was a last ditch effort. There weren’t many hospitals left, but this one was nearby and would accept minors. We visited her almost every weekend. I was thirteen the summer that I noticed the way my mom was looking at Daniel Cavenaugh. His wife was in Radley, and he was having such a hard time with Toby always asking when she’d be coming home. Toby never spent any time with us in the waiting room, he was always with his mom, listening to her play the piano or letting her win at Scrabble. I remember Daniel crying on the couch in the visitors lounge, and then my mom put her hand on his back and said they should walk down the hall to get him some coffee.”

“They were standing next to the machine, and she put her hand on his cheek to wipe away the tear streaks, and it was so clear. I couldn’t remember the last time she looked at my dad like that. If she ever had. They were in love.”

“I don’t know when Bethany noticed, but it was only a few months later when Daniel’s wife went off the roof. I guess she thought if Marilyn was dead, Daniel wouldn’t be visiting Radley anymore. Everything was covered up, I don’t know exactly how, but apparently Jessica DiLaurentis got involved.”

“They thought Charlotte pushed her,” Emily says. “She told us that Bethany pointed the finger at her. But I don’t understand, she also said it happened when they were kids, not teenagers.”

“I read that, in Mr. Fitz’s book,” Jenna replies. “She lied. I’m surprised he didn’t catch it. Or maybe, since it was supposed to be fiction, he didn’t bother with research. But Marion Cavanaugh died in October of 2007. Charlotte DiLaurentis was 20 years old. She and Bethany were friends, though. Or as close to being friends as someone like Bethany could get.”

“I met her a few times, although I didn’t know she was Jessica’s daughter. Mrs. DiLaurentis always said she was her niece. Jessica loved Charlotte having a friend, she would take them out together for a day at the stables or the movies or to the ballet. When Charlotte wasn’t allowed out, or if she had to study, Jessica would take Bethany by herself. She wasn’t technically supposed to, but she was on the board, they weren’t going to tell her no. I guess maybe she was lonely.”

“My dad noticed. He always had a roving eye, but he was usually on his best behavior when Bethany was at home. She never knew about that side of him. She was shocked when they told her about the divorce. She flipped the table, broke one of the lamps in the waiting room over his head. After that, he was out, he didn’t come back.” 

“That’s awful,” Emily commiserates, as she tends to the whistling kettle and brews two cups of mint tea.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jenna shrugs, wrapping her fingers around the steaming mug. “My mom reconnected with Daniel, and they got married. We moved here. She visited Bethany less and less. We were still doing family therapy once a month, but I’m pretty sure she told Daniel that Bethany had been released, that she’d gone to live with my dad. It’s hard to blame her. All she wanted was a normal life. But she had one daughter who was in a psych ward, and another who was sneaking cigarettes and kissing girls behind the garage. A new husband who traveled as much as she did. A grieving stepson who couldn’t even be in the same room with her. I certainly didn’t help matters, what I did with him. And then after - the accident - we didn’t go to Radley for two months. Labor Day Weekend, Bethany ran away from Radley and disappeared.” 

My mom was away when they called the house. I was scared out of my mind. I couldn’t see, I still wasn’t used to the cane, and my sister the escaped mental patient was on the loose. I figured she would either head right to our house, or--if she knew about my dad’s affair--the DiLaurentis place. I called the police. I filed a missing person report. Garrett showed up and I told him everything. He agreed to help me look for her, to protect me. I was fourteen,” Jenna says, tears in her voice. “He had a badge and a gun. I honestly believed he could.”

\------

A few streets away, Alison enters her house and strolls upstairs to the master bedroom, where her husband is propped up in bed reading a book. 

“Darling, you’re home early,” he says. “Did you have a nice time with your friends?”.

“I suppose,” Alison says noncommittally, taking off her earrings and setting them on the vanity table.

“You’re not wearing your ring,” Joseph observes.

“Oh,” Alison tells him. “I took it off when I was doing dishes earlier.”

“You don’t do dishes,” he says skeptically.

“Don’t ever assume you know everything about me,” Alison breezes.

“I know that you’ve been distracted. I know that you and Emily Fields have a history. Should I be worried?” he asks.

“Whatever for? It was a schoolgirl crush. I’m not a schoolgirl anymore.” Alison says this as if she’s had the line ready for some time.

“Do not lie to me, Alison,” Joseph says.

“I’m not,” Alison protests. “Don’t be insecure. Emily Fields went home with Jenna Marshall. They’re probably having an all night game of Blind Woman’s Bluff.” She lays down on the bed, resting her head against her husband’s chest. “And here I am with you.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Rollins tells her. “Right where you belong.”

\------ 

“We never found Bethany that night,” Jenna continues. “She stayed gone. But Alison was missing, too. I thought that either Alison killed Bethany and went on the run, or Bethany killed Alison and then took off. Or they ran off together in a fireball of insanity”

“That’s what you were doing that night?” Emily asks. “I thought you two were there looking for the N.A.T. club videos. And what about Garrett fake hitting Alison with the hockey stick?”

“He told me later that he was trying to earn her trust. He thought those videos were the key to everything,” Jenna replies. “Ian had cameras everywhere, for years. They captured a lot more than kid stuff. Garrett wanted to find out what was on the flash drive that Ali stole, he said he’d seen a clip of Jessica with some guy who wasn’t Kenneth. He thought it might have been my dad, he said maybe she’d sent it to Bethany as a prank. I told him Alison didn’t know Bethany, but he said we couldn’t count on anything with her.”

“Wait, are you saying that Ali didn’t copy all the N.A.T. Club videos?” Emily asks.

“All the ones that were in one folder of Ian’s computer the weekend he was with her in Hilton Head,” Jenna explains. “But he had years worth of files on flash drives, in other folders, on other computers. I wanted to get the flash drive back from Alison, too, I didn’t love her having the ability to blackmail me. But I was hoping they would lead to other answers. They never did.”

“When Alison’s body was found, I didn’t know whether to feel terrified or relieved. I knew Bethany was still alive, and still angry. Who else would have lured me to the DiLaurentis house and then tried to burn it down while I was trapped inside? In her worldview, trying to kill you is just another way of saying hello.”

“I can think of better ways,” Emily offers.

“Me, too.” Jenna agrees. “She tried to drown me in the lake, that time that you rescued me. And she blew up our whole house the night they identified the body in Alison’s grave as her. The one time Shana managed to track her down was the night at Thornhill Lodge, right before the whole building caught fire. When she came back claiming she was better, I confronted her about all those things and she smiled this really creepy smile and said ‘What’s a little attempted murder between friends.’”

“With friends like that, who needs enemies,” Emily comments. “Still, it has a familiar ring to it.”

“Everyone I confided in, everyone I cared about - Garrett, Wilden, Shana - they all ended up dead,” Jenna sighs. “I know Wilden wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen, but he was trying to help me.”

“When did she come back?” Emily asks, dazed by all this new information.

“I guess she’d been using Sara Harvey’s identity since you were rescued from the Dollhouse. But she never gave any interviews, I never heard her voice. I had no idea what she’d been up to until a few months after graduation. I was living in Philadelphia, I’d just had another operation, one that worked. I got a call from my mom that she was back, and she was better.”

“I wanted to tell the police right away. I tried calling Toby about a hundred times, but he wouldn’t return any of my calls. Our parents were living mostly separate lives by then. And Bethany was telling my mom everything she’d always wanted to believe. She claimed she’d been in really intensive therapy, that she could control her outbursts. When she started to get angry, she was supposed to wash the feelings off in a shower.”

“She took like five showers a day when she lived with me,” Emily gasps.

“Better than five attempted murders,” Jenna suggests. “She’s not stupid, she knew I wanted to turn her in. But she’s smart, Bethany Young had already been declared dead. Someone had switched the dental records to be a match. And telling anyone would have been tantamount to signing a death warrant for them, or for me, or for my mom. She did her best impression of a dutiful daughter when my mom was sick. And then once my mom passed away, she vanished into the woodwork again. I get calls for her every once in awhile, the occasional bill. But she hasn’t tried to kill me recently, so maybe whatever therapy she’s done really has worked. But I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”

“I should have mentioned this before,” Emily says. “You’re safe for now. I saw her - Sara or Bethany or whatever her name is - she’s in the Tree Tops Mental Health Center, but they think she’s Charlotte.”

“Where’s Charlotte?” Jenna asks, although her words are almost drowned out by a loud pounding on the front door.

“What was that?” Emily asks. “Do crazed psychopaths knock?”

“One way to find out,” Jenna suggests, grabbing a can of pepper spray off the spice rack.

Emily opens the door, Jenna standing behind her. Both women gasp as the sight on the porch - a basket full of fireworks, with a flame sparking merrily down the lit string fuse.


	20. Candid Cameras

Emily doesn’t stop to think, she goes on instinct and slams the door closed. She grabs Jenna and propels them as far back into the house as they can get. They make it all the way back into the kitchen, where Emily practically shoves Jenna underneath the wooden table and throws herself down on top of her as the first explosion sounds, loud enough to shatter the windows. 

It’s followed by a terrifying series of blasts and sparks, Emily’s ears are ringing and smoke is drifting in from the living room by the time she hazards a look. Broken glass covers almost every surface, and Emily can feel a stinging sensation above her right eyebrow that she knows probably means she’s been cut.

She hears sirens in the distance and then Jenna is on her feet, looking stunned, surveying the wreckage that moments ago was the well kept first floor of her house. She grabs a fire extinguisher from beneath the sink and makes her way into the living room, where she sprays a few flickering flames and grabs the soot covered base of a shattered snow globe. She shoves it into the remains of Emily’s purse, which is more or less intact except for being half full of broken glass and sporting a dark burn mark down one side. 

She hands it to Emily as they stagger out the side door. 

“Are you okay?” Emily asks her.

“Thanks to your action hero routine back there,” Jenna replies. “I owe you one.”

“You really don’t,” Emily assures her. “I didn’t behave so well the first time someone threw a firework at you.”

“Fair enough,” Jenna admits. “We’ll call it even, then.”

“You’re welcome to crash with us at Aria’s tonight,” Emily offers, as a fire truck pulls up to the curb. “I don’t think your place is going to be habitable for awhile.”

Jenna shakes her head. “Thanks for the offer, but this seems like a good time for me to leave town, wait until the circus of psychopaths moves its caravan along. There’s something for you in that snow globe base, though. I hope it helps.”

Emily fishes through her purse a bit more, pulling out two small flash drives from under the felted bottom. “Are these the rest of the videos?” she asks.

“I told you, there were tons more. These are just a tiny drop in the bucket. Garrett asked me to hold onto those the night he was arrested.”

“Do you know what happened to the rest of them?” Emily asks, wondering if they could really turn out to be important after all this time. 

“He left them with someone he trusted,” Jenna tells her. “He gave them to Melissa Hastings.”

\----------

“What happened?!” her friends ask in chorus as Emily walks through the door at Aria’s.

“I have a lot of new information,” Emily replies. “But first I need to get the glass out of my hair.”

\----------

“Okay,” Hanna says, as Spencer bandages the cut above Emily’s eye. “Cece is Charlotte. Sara is Bethany. So who the heck was buried in Alison’s grave?” 

“No idea,” Emily replies. “The real Sara Harvey, maybe?”

“It could be anyone,” Spencer muses. “It could be Jimmy Hoffa in a blonde wig, it’s hard to say whether the Rosewood Police would have noticed.”

“It could have been a sack of potatoes and they wouldn’t have noticed,” Aria suggests. “Except potatoes don’t have dental records.”

“I feel bad for Jenna,” Paige says. “All that time we were in high school and she was skulking around acting suspicious, it turns out she was trying to avoid a psychopath, too.”

“She could have warned us,” Hanna suggests. “We saved her life enough times. Including tonight, by the sounds of it.”

“We also blinded her, to begin with,” Spencer points out. “I can see why she didn’t especially want to braid our hair and exchange friendship bracelets.”

“Who do you think was the target tonight?” Caleb asks. “It must have been Jenna, right? No one but us could have known you were over there.”

“And Alison,” Aria points out. “Who is, let’s face it, the only person known to have attacked Jenna with a firework before.” She casts a quick look at Emily. “She was really mad when you left with her, Em.”

“We all know I’m not a huge Alison fan,” Hanna declares. “But no matter how mad she was, I don’t think she’d do anything to risk Emily’s life on purpose.”

“That’s sweet of you to say,” Emily says, sarcastically. “Don’t forget, Charlotte is still unaccounted for. She always knew where we were and what we were doing.”

“And the N.A.T. videos are back in the mix,” Spencer muses. “I don’t know if we’re shaking the tree or the tree is shaking us right now.”

“Either way,” Hanna shrugs. “I’ll make popcorn.”

\--------

Caleb copies the files immediately, and then runs a feed from his computer to the television screen. They sit through three scenes of young girls undressing through bedroom windows before the fourth shows a much closer view of a girl’s bedroom, as if the camera were on a dresser or in a closet. Emily recognizes the girl in the fourth video, clad in her bra and reclining on the bed as if she’s waiting for someone.

“That’s Claire,” she tells the others. “The girl who was supposedly friends with Sara Harvey.” 

“This could be a blackmail video,” Paige suggests, munching a handful of Hanna’s popcorn, as they watch another girl walk into the room and start stripping down to her underwear as well. “But they must know they’re on camera, right?”

“How do you figure?” Aria asks.

“I might have been a late bloomer,” Paige says. “But I would say 9 out of 10 high school lesbians start the make out session before taking their clothes off, not after.”

“I think that’s her friend, Tina,” Hanna says, as Claire and the other girl start kissing and rolling around on the bed. “Although she had more clothes on the time I met her.”

“It feels really creepy to watch this,” Spencer comments.

“I agree,” Caleb says. “But it’s for the greater good, right?”

“Hey!” Hanna exclaims, as the scene shifts to a different bedroom, where a young girl with blond curly hair is running her hand across the beefy chest of a short haired muscular man. “I recognize her, too - from the website. That’s the real Sara Harvey, before she went missing.”

The man turns so that his face looks directly into the camera.

“Jesus,” Spencer says, “It’s Ian Thomas.”

“Is there a date on this?” Emily asks.

Caleb calls up some information on his laptop before answering. “The files were all transferred to the flash drive in April of 2011,” he says. “I can dig a little deeper, see if they had any time stamps embedded originally, but this must be from before she went missing, right? So we’re looking at anytime before September of 2009.”

“Bingo,” Spencer says, as the scene shifts to show her sitting on the porch of the DiLaurentis House with Jason. “I remember this, this was a few days before Labor Day that year.”

“Is anything squicky about to happen?” Hanna asks. “Because that guy has some serious priors with his sisters.”

“Don’t worry,” Spencer assures her. “He’s about to sell me some pills.”

Sure enough, Jason moves sluggishly to pull a small plastic baggie from his shirt pocket. Spencer on the screen grabs it, tosses a few fluttering bills at him, and runs off.

“Jason was dealing you drugs?” Aria says, shocked.

“Not all the time,” Spencer shrugs. “Sometimes the prescriptions ran low. So I turned to the stoner boy next door. Even high as a kite, he’s a good businessman. He charged me five times the street value.”

“He didn’t know you qualified for a family discount,” Emily points out.

The image on the screen cuts out again, is replaced by a grainier shot from outside the window of a pub. The camera zooms in on three men, sitting around a table with their drinks. Only Ian’s face is visible, the other two have their backs to the unseen videographer. 

Ian rummages through a messenger bag, and pulls out a handful of flash drives, which he slides across the table to one of his companions. The man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, slides a thick manilla envelope over to Ian. 

“A payoff,” Spencer says.

“Agreed,” says Paige, as they watch Ian peel off a wad of bills and hand them to the third man at the table. “But who’s he working with?”

Just then, the question is answered as the meeting breaks up. The camera zooms in on the door, emblazoned with the words, “The Hart and the Huntsman,” as the three men exit onto the sidewalk. Under the hood, Wren Kingston’s smirking face is clearly visible, as he slaps Ian on the back, and shakes the hand of the third man. 

He’s wearing a baseball cap over his curly brown hair, but even with a younger sort of babyface, there’s no mistake. The man Ian split the money with is Ezra Fitz.

“Pause it,” Spencer orders, and Caleb freezes the image on the screen. Aria, Emily notices, is white as a sheet. 

“All that money in his sock drawer,” she mutters. “You guys, I swear I had no idea.”

“As someone who has kissed the other two frogs at that table, no judgement,” Spencer says, putting a hand comfortingly on Aria’s back. 

“True,” Hanna says, turning to Paige. “You’re a major upgrade, if you didn’t know.”

“Thanks,” Paige says with a grin. “But this is a major clue, right? It means Wren was in town before Alison met him at Cape May. And he was working with Ian and Ezra on something.”

“Blackmail?” Emily suggests.

“Or underage voyeurism videos,” Hanna adds. “Those might come with a hefty payday.”

“He skated over most of the N.A.T. stuff in his book,” Spencer comments. “I assumed it was because it didn’t seem important, I never put it together that he might have been involved. God, Jason flat out told me Ian must have been working with someone. Who better than the master of all Rosewood’s spy cams?”

“Do you think your mom can sue him?” Aria asks Spencer. “I want my virginity back.”

“Have some popcorn,” Hanna suggests, passing Aria the bowl. “So all these videos must have been taken, or collected, by Garrett Reynolds. Like he was digging up dirt on the other club members. For insurance? Or to use against them somehow? Do we think that’s why he was killed?”

“It seems likely,” Spencer agrees. 

“Is that the end of the videos?” Emily asks Caleb. “Because I don’t know if I can take anymore surprises.”

“There’s one more,” Caleb tells her, bringing the final video up on the screen.

The picture is in black and white, the scene is the back of Garrett’s squad car, and there is a date and time stamp running along the bottom right corner of the image: 04/12/11 21:16. Unlike the other videos, this one includes sound. 

“Does anyone else know about this?” Garrett’s voice asks. “Emily, or any of the girls?”

“I didn’t want them involved,” Maya St. Germain tells him. “But I did tell someone, right when I got back. I went to see my old therapist. I told Dr. Sullivan everything.”


	21. Speed Sleuthing

The first sound Emily hears the next morning is the squeak of a marker against a dry erase board. Opening her eyes, she squints at the sight of Spencer making copious notes on a giant white board.

“Oh good,” Spencer tells her. “You’re awake. I’m using blue for anything related to old mysteries, red for things related to Charlotte’s disappearance, and orange for anything that seems to tie them together.”

“You should add purple, too,” Emily yawns, sitting up stiffly from where she must have fallen asleep on the couch. “For things we know people have lied about.” She touches the bandage above her eye gingerly. It hurts, but not too badly. “Where did you get that from?”

“Walmart is open 24 hours for exactly this reason,” Spencer says, looking a little crazy behind her eyes.

“In case you have multiple mysteries that need to be plotted out before the sun is up?” Emily asks. “Good business plan around here, I suppose.”

“We need to figure out where to concentrate our efforts,” Spencer explains.

“How much coffee have you had?” Emily asks. “And where can I get some?”

“She’s on her fourth cup,” Paige answers, coming into the room with her own mug in hand. “And it’s not even eight o’clock, yet. Things are serious. She may not be able to stop vibrating long enough to give us instructions.”

\-----

An hour later, everyone is downstairs eating cereal, and Aria is vehemently protesting her assignment for the day.

“Why do I have to go undercover?” Aria protests. “I’m no good at Black Ops!”

“You’re on the new mystery track today,” Hanna tells her. “Someone drugged Bethany Young while she was at Speed Dating and put her into Tree Tops under Charlotte’s name. So whoever it was, they must know something about Charlotte’s disappearance. And she told Emily she was meeting someone there, so keep your eyes peeled for anyone we know.”

“If it were lesbian speed dating, I’d do it myself,” Emily tells her. “ Or send Paige and Spencer.”

“Can you imagine Spencer trying to investigate at speed dating?” Paige asks. “I love you, Spence, but subtle is not your strong suit.” 

“Don’t think of it as speed dating,” Spencer suggests helpfully. “Think of it as speed sleuthing.”

“Because I’m better at that?” Aria asks. 

“I’ll be your back up,” Paige offers.

“I need back up?” Aria wails.

“We all need back up,” Spencer tells her grimly. “We still don’t know what exactly is going on here.”

\------

“This is no good,” Aria hisses. “Look at that hipster with the beret and the stupid looking mustache. I dated three guys just like him in art school.” She points at another prospect, “That guy is wearing white socks with black shoes. He can’t even plan a wardrobe, much less a kidnapping in broad daylight.”

“What about that guy?” Paige asks, nodding towards a tall man wearing blue jeans and a tweed suit jacket with leather elbow patches. His back is towards them as he examines the cookies laid out on the table.

“Cute butt,” Aria says, appraisingly, “But based on present company, he probably has onion breath or a giant mole on his face.”

Speed dating is every bit as humiliating as she imagined it would be. 

“Your parents must have liked music,” the art house hipster says, after hearing her name.

“Yeah, my dad is a big opera lover.”

“Excellent,” he says. “I love La Vie Boehme,” mangling the pronunciation of all three words.

White socks/Black shoes recognizes her from the old news coverage. “Wow,” he says. “I’ve never dated anyone who’s been arrested for murder before!”

“How nice for you,” Aria responds. “And it wasn’t murder, it was - nevermind.”

The next guy - a frat bro wearing a YOLO truckers cap - sits down and she decides to channel Spencer, immediately flashing him a picture of Sara from her cell phone. “I’m trying to find this girl,” she tells him. “Have you ever seen her here?”

“No,” he says, with a sly grin, “But if you’re looking for a three-way, I’m so in.” He looks at her eagerly, to gauge her response, then continues, “Hey, didn’t we go to high school together?”

“Maybe,” Aria replies, coolly.

“I totally remember you and your friends! So hot, and so much drama! You must be the gay one.”

“No,” Aria corrects him. “That’s Emily Fields. And now -”

“Nuh-uh,” he says confidently interrupting. “Emily was the crazy brainiac that got sent to Radley.”

“You’re thinking of Spencer Hastings,” Aria tells him.

“Not even,” he mansplains. “She was the one who was sleeping with the English teacher.”

Aria puts her head down and bangs it quietly against the table. 

When she looks up, she sees Mr. Tweed Jacket sitting across from her and yelps a little in surprise. He doesn’t have onion breath or any facial deformities at all. He’s wearing stylish wire rimmed glasses and running a hand nervously through his sandy blonde hair, smelling great and looking like he just stepped out of a speed dating sexy dream. 

“Jason?!” she says, startled.

“Aria!” he says, his voice pleasantly surprised. “Wow. Hi.”

“Well. This is a little awkward,” Aria laughs.

“No, I’m so glad to see you.” Jason says, leaning forward. “What are you doing here? Last I heard, you went down south for school?”

“Savannah, actually.” Aria tells him.

“But now you’re back?” he asks.

“I am. Back. For now. Hey, do you do this a lot?” Aria asks him.

“Speed dating?” he says, looking only a little embarrassed. “I’ve been a couple of times, I guess. I work crazy hours and I don’t go to bars. It can be hard to meet people.”

“Have you ever run into anyone else here, that you know?” 

“I saw my high school math teacher last month,” he offers. “She gave me her number.” He shrugs. “The whole dating thing got pretty complicated for me. You know that part, when you’re first getting to know someone, and you give that quick run down of your past relationships?”

“Do I ever,” Aria agrees. “That’s the part where I try to make ‘I dated my high school English teacher for two years while he was also stalking me, but don’t worry, he was very handsome’ sound more screwball charming than red flag this girl is bonkers.”

“Still beats ‘I’ve made out with two of my sisters,’” Jason says, but he’s smiling. 

“Maybe speed dating isn’t the right move for either of us,” Aria offers. “Have you seen Charlotte lately, by any chance?”

“A few weeks ago,” he answers, frowning. “I get supervised visitation, once a month. I don’t get along with her psychiatrist.”

“Ali’s husband?” Aria asks, intrigued.

“Doctor Strangelove,” Jason nods. “I mean, maybe they’re making it work, but he was Alison’s shrink, too. The whole thing felt off to me. I expressed my concerns - maybe a little too loudly - and he accused me of having a sexual fixation with my sisters. Next thing I know, Alison will barely speak to me, and I’m only allowed one hour per month with Charlotte. Which tells me I was right, that guy’s a creep.”

“This from the guy who got together with his buddies and filmed his sister’s underage friends without their knowledge or consent. For years,” Aria reminds him.

“So if I think it’s messed up, it must be pretty bad,” Jason agrees. “I was using back then. And I was an idiot. I never should have gotten involved with that stupid club.”

“Would you like to tell me more? Maybe over dinner, sometime?” Aria asks. 

“That sounds great, actually.” Jason replies.

\---

Twenty minutes later, Paige is pulling her towards the car. 

“Do you think he’s involved,” she asks.

“I’m not sure,” Aria admits. “I have this problem where guys always seem too cute to be sinister.”

“Well, while you were getting an actual date, I did see someone else there that we know,” Paige informs her.

“Who?” Aria asks.

“Noel Kahn.”


	22. Thorapy

Emily slides into the front seat of her car and nearly has a heart attack at the unexpected sight of Mona Vanderwaal waiting in the backseat.

Hanna, opening the front passenger door, appears completely unsurprised. She beams as Mona hands her a cronut wrapped in wax paper and an elaborate gift bag stuffed with glittery pink tissue paper.

“Sorry for the startle,” Mona says to Emily. “I got your text, Hannakins, and I ran right over.” 

“I texted you thirty seconds ago,” Hanna says, amused.

“Okay, so MAY-be I was watching the house, hoping you would invite me to do some crime again,” Mona admits. “Is that it? Are we doing any crimes?” she asks brightly.

“No,” Hanna replies, causing Mona’s smile to droop a bit. “I was hoping you might have some information.”

“In that case,” Mona says, leaning between the seats to pat Hanna’s thigh. “I’m totally your girl.” 

“Spencer owes Paige twenty bucks,” Emily grumbles.

Hanna shoots her a look before turning back to Mona. “Remember when I would visit you in Radley?”

“That makeover changed my life,” Mona agrees. “I had been using the wrong shade of concealer for years,” she laughs. “Talk about crazy!”

“You gave me a clue,” Hanna says. “Maya knew.”

“She knew that I gave you a clue?” Mona asks, confused.

“No, that was the clue. You spelled it out in code. Miss Aria You’re A Killer, Not Ezra’s Wife.”

“Oh my god” Mona says, smiling. “My first code! That is so super sweet of you to remember!”

“What did it it mean?” Emily cuts in. “What did she know, exactly?”

Mona thinks for a minute. “Sorry,” she says, regretfully, biting her lip. “A lot of my time there is a blank. I was over medicated and under stimulated.”

“Did you ever listen in on any of Maya’s sessions with Dr. Sullivan?” Hanna presses. “You had her office bugged, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Mona agrees. “A girl’s gotta keep tabs on what her frenemies are sharing with their mental health professional, somehow! But I had such a busy schedule keeping up with all four of you. I only listened in on a few of Maya’s appointments. Just to see if she’d say anything really dirty about you,” she stage whispers, arching her eyebrows and nodding significantly at Emily. 

“What did she say?” Emily asks. “In the appointments that you did overhear?”

“I remember she said you could do this thing with your tongue -”

“Mona!” Emily cuts her off. “What did she say that might be a secret?”

“Fine,” Mona says, rolling her eyes. “It was all pretty banal. Her parent’s didn’t understand her. Smoking up helped her with her anxiety. Emily, Emily, Emily. Oh! And she thought there was something off about that creepy rehab program she got sent to.”

“Off, how?” Hanna asks. 

“She got sent there for her little pot habit,” Mona explains, “but she thought they were trying to like, rehab the gay out of her. Dr. Sullivan was all upset about it. She called the Ethics Board after Maya left.”

“They were trying to reprogram her?” Emily says, aghast. “She never told me.”

Maybe because your mom was the one who got her sent there?” Hanna suggests. “Or because it didn’t work?”

“It definitely didn’t work,” Mona nods, knowingly. “They had no idea about Emily’s tongue.” 

\-----

“Hanna! Emily! What a nice surprise,” Dr. Sullivan says, seeing them in her doorway. “What can I do for you?”

“We wanted to thank you,” Hanna says, closing the office door behind them. “For trying so hard to help us with everything.”

“I only wish I could have done more,” Dr. Sullivan replies.

“Maybe you still can,” Emily suggests, sitting down. “Would you be able to tell us anything that Maya St. Germain might have said to you about her time at True North?”

“Oh, Emily,” Dr. Sullivan says. “You know I can’t. I know how she felt about you, but patient confidentiality…”

“Doesn’t apply anymore, since she’s dead,” Hanna says, bluntly.

“Technically, that may be true,” Dr. Sullivan agrees. “But -”

“Maybe you could talk about it more generally,” Emily suggests. “Like, what kinds of things might a patient tell you that would prompt a call to the Ethics Board?” 

“That’s a tricky question,” Dr. Sullivan responds, slowly. “Even if confidentiality for Maya didn’t apply, the psychiatrist in question was cleared of wrongdoing. I wouldn’t want to slander him.”

“Even if he was involved in reparative therapy?” Emily asks.

“Reparative therapy wasn’t, at the time, illegal. But it was controversial, and generally thought of as ineffective, an outdated holdover from the days when we didn’t understand as much as we do now about how sexual orientation works,” Dr. Sullivan replies. “If it were only that, the Ethics Board wouldn’t have gotten involved.”

“What might make them get involved?” Hanna asks. “Broadly speaking.”

“If a pattern of treatment went well beyond the bounds of legitimate psychotherapy,” Dr. Sullivan answers, hesitantly. “If a minor had ostensibly been sent to a rehab program due to fairly minor substance abuse issues, only to have the lead therapist--when he learned the details of her background--engage in very high pressure techniques to encourage a more ‘normal’ relationship between her and one of the male participants. If a former patient came to me, saying that she understood that this therapist’s interference was inappropriate, that she didn’t care for the young man at all, that her suitor had, under the guidance of his mentor, become alarming in his escalating attempts to see her, to force her to continue their romance - that would certainly be a cause for concern.”

“Lyndon,” Emily says, quietly.

Dr. Sullivan looks at her quickly, “Should I continue?” she asks, concerned. “I’m sure this isn’t an easy topic for you, Emily.”

“It’s okay,” Emily replies. “I mean, it’s not okay. It will never be okay. But this information might help us find -”

“Closure” Hanna interrupts. “That’s a thing, right?”

“It is,” Dr. Sullivan says, frowning. “Hypothetically speaking, again, if the patient told me there had already been a few scenes, that the young man seemed unstable and possibly violent, and that she believed this behavior was being driven and encouraged by their shared psychiatrist as some kind of experiment in manipulation - it would be beyond the pale. I wouldn’t have hesitated to share that information with the Ethics Board. To request a full investigation.”

“But this guy was cleared of all charges?” Hanna asks. “Seriously?”

“Unfortunately, there was no evidence,” Dr. Sullivan says, shaking her head. “Both the patient and the young man were deceased before the board completed its investigation. They were told that the psychiatrist had done all he could to treat the young man, but that he had an unexpected psychotic break, that could not have been predicted or prevented by his counselor.”

“That’s awful,” Emily whispers, a few tears slipping down her cheek. Hanna squeezes her hand.

“She was a very special young woman,” Dr. Sullivan says. “And she cared a great deal for you, Emily.”

“Do you ever wonder,” Hanna asks, “what high school was like for other people?”

“All the time,” Emily admits. “People who only had to worry about their times for the next swim meet, not about cars crashing into their living rooms or their girlfriends turning up dead in the backyard.” 

“Or murder charges. Or kidnappings.” Hanna adds.

“There’s no way to undo the terrible things that happened to you,” Dr. Sullivan tells them. “But you all came through stronger on the other side. You’ve gone on to build healthy and productive lives. That’s an amazing accomplishment.”

“And we’re all still friends,” Hanna says, looking directly at Emily. “Friends who will do anything to protect each other.”

“I know that’s what you think you were doing,” Emily retorts. “But from where I’m standing, it feels like betrayal.”

“Emily,” Dr. Sullivan says, “is there something you’d like to talk about?” 

“Alison broke it off for no reason!” Hanna reminds her. “Do you remember how you couldn’t get out of bed for a week? I’d never seen you like that, Emily. I’d never seen you giving up. It scared the hell out of me. I love you, and I couldn’t let you waste the rest of your life waiting for Alison to come back! I wrote her that letter because I couldn’t stand the way she kept stringing you along.”

“I was so mad at her, for so long” Emily says. “It helped, to be angry.”

“You should still be angry,” Hanna protests. “She married her shrink. And she’s still married to him, even if she wants to play footsie with you when no one’s looking. She’s not capable of loving anyone but herself.”

“She loved me,’ Emily says, and as the words come out, she feels a sense of certainty in them, clarity, that she hasn’t felt since they broke up. “And I loved her, Hanna. I still love her.”

“Think it through, Emily!” Hanna says. “You have to know this ends bloody for someone.”

“Hanna,” Dr. Sullivan interjects, “I sense that you’re very invested here - “ 

“Caleb always says we’re like a band of Vikings.” Hanna interrupts. “Which, no thanks on the beards, but yes to the battle axes. And what are you supposed to do if you see your best Viking exposing her whole entire neck to a dragon? You go after the dragon with everything you’ve got!”

“Are you more worried about Emily’s neck because you think the dragon could hurt her, or because you’re afraid if she does that, she might not be a Viking anymore?” Dr. Sullivan inquires.

“That’s a stupid question,” Hanna says, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m worried the dragon is going to fry her up and eat little pieces of her heart like they’re camp fire marshmallows.”

“Seriously, Hanna? I’ve been a Viking just as long as you have! I know how to handle myself around dragons,” Emily tells her.

“Clearly, you don’t!” Hanna replies.

“Now, Hanna, you believe the dragon is extremely dangerous, and you’ve made that very clear to Emily,” Dr. Sullivan says. “But are you open to hearing her perceptions? She might believe that exposing her neck will allow her to tame the dragon, or ride the dragon into battle, or engage the dragon to use its firepower on your behalf. If Emily, battle-tested as she is, believes the possible reward is worth the risk, hasn’t she earned the right to that choice?”

“But what if the dragon kills her?” Hanna asks, anguished.

“What if it runs me over with a car, Hanna? What then? What if it sends threatening text messages and plants evidence and forces someone to come out before they’re ready to do it on their own? Or breaks up Aria’s family? Is everything forgiven when she shows up with an apology and a pair of shoes she found in your size at the mall?”

“Please,” Hanna says. “It’s not the same. Mona is a Phoenix, obviously.”

“Who slashed us all bloody with her talons before setting us on fire.” Emily retorts, angrily. “How do you know that Mona won’t hurt us anymore? You don’t know for sure, but you trust her! And I trust you! That’s how this works, Hanna!”

“Honestly, I think you believe it’s meant to be because it’s star-crossed. Part of you thinks it’s romantic that there’s always danger and intrigue and big messy feelings with her. Like it’s not love if nobody’s faking their own death. But that’s not what the long term is about, Em.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about the long term,” Emily says. “You have no idea! You have Caleb! You’ve never woken up next to a stranger screaming out loud because you dreamt you were back on the morgue slabs in the Dollhouse! You’ve never ruined a Sunday afternoon picnic by dozing off and then waking up sobbing because you had a dream that you were at Alison’s funeral, but it was all of us in the coffin! You have someone who understands the nightmares.”

Hanna sits with her words for a minute before replying. “I never thought of it that way,” she answers, truthfully. “I love you. I hate the thought of you getting hurt.”

“Emily,” Dr. Sullivan says, “I sense that there are a lot of things going on here, but I do believe that whatever actions Hanna’s taken here, they came from a place of love, not a wish to harm.”

“When we were in that place,” Emily tells Hanna, choking up. “I chose you to get water. Every time. I know it wasn’t real. But it felt real. I knew you’d keep choosing to give water to all of us, you’d never take the option to drink it yourself, not even if your kidneys were shutting down and you were dying of thirst.”

“I never shocked you,” Hanna says, tears in her eyes, too. “I wasn’t getting shocked, and I was so afraid that Spencer and Aria would keep choosing you, because you were the strongest.”

“I’ve never been the strongest,” Emily tells her. “None of us are. We’re only ever as strong as we are together.”

Dr. Sullivan blows her nose loudly, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You girls, you’re the bravest Vikings I’ve ever seen.”

“So, we’re okay?” Hanna asks.

“We’re okay,” Emily confirms. “But for the record, Hanna - Emily knows what Emily wants.”

Hanna laughs through the last of her tears. “Fair enough. Go get her, Tiger.”

\------

Emily finds Alison in an empty classroom, transcribing a passage from “The Scarlet Letter” onto the chalkboard. She’s always had excellent handwriting, Emily thinks.

Alison ignores Emily for two full minutes, a trick Emily recognizes as one of her old ways of establishing control.

“Alison,” she says. “We need you. We have a lot of new information.”

“Did you get it from Jenna?” Alison asks, coolly. “Was she writing it in Braille on your tongue?”  
Emily actually laughs. “You don’t need to be jealous,” she says.

“Don’t I?” Alison asks, whirling around to face her. “I was thinking about upending my whole life for you!”

Emily crosses the room and sits down on the edge of Alison’s desk. “It never works,” Emily says. “I’ve tried to not be in love with you, so many times. And it’s never worked, Ali. Not once.”

Alison’s face transforms from angry to stunned. “What about yesterday?” she asks, a little suspicious. “All those things you said?”

“Everything was happening so fast. You’ve been married for three years. I’ve been back for three days,” Emily replies. 

“That seems about right,” Alison says, taking Emily’s hand. “You know how one year is like seven dog years? I have that for you, except with feelings.” 

“That’s very romantic,” Emily grins. “That actually might top your mushy squash metaphor.”

Alison smirks. “Is there a reason you’re not kissing me right now?” she asks, leaning towards Emily.

“No,” Emily whispers, wrapping her hands around Alison’s waist and pulling her closer.

They’re interrupted by a sharp knock at the open classroom door. Emily turns, expecting to see Hanna. Instead, her eyes fall on the furiously indignant face of Dr. Joseph Rollins.


	23. The Truth Stings

Emily takes her hands off Alison’s waist quickly, guiltily. Alison, however, stands her ground, not moving away from Emily at all. The only sign that she’s even a little discomposed is the flush creeping up the back of her neck.

“You forgot your phone,” her husband says, coldly, holding up Alison’s cell phone in one hand. “I thought you might need it.”

“Thank you,” Alison tells him briskly, squeezing Emily’s shoulder as she breaks contact to walk over to Joseph and retrieve it. 

His eyes are flashing with hostility, but Alison takes the phone from his hand and then brushes a piece of invisible lint off his shoulder. Incredibly, she continues her wifely ministrations by straightening his blue silk pocket square. “Let’s be civilized about this. There’s no need to have a scene,” she says, in a voice that sounds almost bored. “We should discuss this privately. At home.” It seems incredible, but it also seems like pure Alison to do her best to brazen this out.

“I see nothing to discuss,” he responds. “Other than your pathetic weakness. Your pathological inability to break out of old and destructive patterns.”

“That’s enough,” Emily says as she stands up, a note of warning in her voice. He's so angry, she wonders how long he was standing there. How much he overheard.

“Do you know why she’s with you?” Dr. Rollins asks, his voice full of casual venom. “It’s because her mother never loved her.”

“Don’t you dare,” Alison hisses at him, “don’t you dare say another word about my mother.”

“It’s always been a weak point of yours, darling,” he says. “You lie to yourself so often, the truth stings you to hear.”

“Joseph,” Alison says, a pleading note in her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to hurt you, I really didn’t. But we rushed into this. I rushed into this. What we have is -”

“What we have,” he cuts her off in an authoritative voice, “is a healthy, normal life. Which is what you want and need.”

Alison shakes her head firmly. “Not with you. You’re right, I have been lying to myself, trying to believe that what we had together was enough. That it could make me happy.” Emily feels simultaneously elated and terrified hearing these words come out of Alison's mouth so decisively.

“You’ll never be happy,” he tells her, scathingly. “You don’t know how.”

“You should leave,” Emily tells him, forcefully. “Now.” 

“I suggest you mind your own business,” he sneers, stepping around Alison so that he’s face to face with Emily. “And if I were you,” he continues, grabbing her shoulder roughly, “I would keep your filthy hands to yourself.”

“Let her go,” Alison snarls, sinking her fingernails into his forearm. “Joseph, are you out of your mind?” 

Rollins tightens his grip on Emily’s shoulder, to the point that his fingers are likely to leave bruises, she thinks, wincing as the pain of her old injury flares up. “It’s actually not a suggestion,” he declares, wrapping his other hand around the base of her neck. “Stay away from my wife,” he growls, “or next time I might lose my temper.”

Emily doesn’t bother trying a rational, verbal response. Instead, she thanks the gods of swim team practice for all the hours of training she’s put in, the toned muscles of her right arm as she pulls her elbow back and then strikes upward with the flat base of her palm. She hears the cartilage crunch as she connects with Joseph Rollins’ nose, feels droplets of blood spraying her wrist as he immediately releases his grip and brings both hands to cover his face, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

He backs toward the doorway, his eyes watering with pain and rage. “This,” he spits thickly, gesturing at the two women, “means nothing. Less than nothing. Two damaged little girls playing house.” He casts one more contemptuous look at them before staggering out.

“Are you okay?” Alison asks, examining Emily’s neck and shoulder. Emily feels Alison’s hand trembling as she gently pulls back Emily’s collar to look at the reddening marks on the side of her neck.

“I’m fine,” Emily assures her, shaking out her hand. “Ali, those things he said, you know they’re not true, right?”

“Of course,” Alison says, in a voice that Emily recognizes as an imitation of her confident tone, rather than the real thing. “He was hurt. He wanted to hurt me.” She sighs. “I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I’ve never seen him like that before.” 

“What happened?” Hanna’s voice cuts in from the doorway, where she and Dr. Sullivan have finally appeared. “We just saw Rollins stumbling down the hall. You know when I said it was going to end bloody, I didn’t actually mean for you to dislocate someone’s nose in the next ten minutes.”

“He came in at an inopportune moment,” Alison explains. “Things got a little heated. Look at what he did to Emily,” she says, pointing to the angry red welts on her neck and shoulder.

Now it’s Hanna’s turn to stand in the doorway looking furious. “I think you got his nose pretty good,” she tells Emily. “But if he lays a hand on you again, I’ll take an ear. Both ears. Or a spleen.”

“Dr. Joseph Rollins?” Dr. Sullivan asks. “He did this?”

“He did,” Emily confirms. 

Dr. Sullivan hesitates, clearly on the brink of disclosing information.

“What?” Hanna asks her. “What is it?”

“Dr. Rollins is the colleague I filed the complaint against,” Dr. Sullivan admits. “He was Maya St. Germain’s therapist at True North.”


	24. The Price of Assault

“Who wants to go first?” Spencer asks, sliding into a booth at the Apple Rose Grille. She clocks a long look at Emily and Alison, who are sitting extremely close together, Alison’s arm draped around Emily’s shoulders as she casually runs a hand through Emily’s hair. 

“We have a Noel Kahn sighting to report,” Paige informs her. “But the Brew is a popular place, it’s hard to say if he was returning to the scene of the crime or just there for coffee.”

“Sara - or Bethany,” Spencer corrects herself, “did say she was looking for someone. Any other candidates?”

“Maybe,” Aria admits. “Jason was there.”

“My brother?!” Alison and Spencer simultaneously exclaim.

“And I might be...investigating him...over dinner later this week,” Aria announces.

“Investigating, investigating?” Hanna asks. “Or like, the case of ‘how did his boxers end up on my lampshade’ investigating?”

“Hanna!” Aria says, swatting her with a menu.

“What?” Hanna says. “It’s a valid question. We all heard the way you said investigating.”

“It did kind of sound like that,” Caleb agrees.

“You’ve been married to Hanna too long,” Aria says, swatting him for good measure.

“Seriously, though,” Alison says. “Jason’s had a rough time of it since we found out about Charlotte. He took it hard, and fell off the wagon harder.”

“He’s doing fine, now,” Spencer says, a little defensively. “Anyway, Caleb and I spent the morning playing a round of Hastings vs. Hastings.”

“It’s like Spy vs. Spy,” Caleb says. “Only scary.”

“We’ve got a tracker on Melissa’s car now,” Spencer informs them. “And I called my dad to have him send over the background check they did on Wren when he and Melissa first started dating.”

“He didn’t ask what you wanted with it?” Emily asks, incredulous.

“I gave him a good dose of ‘Daddy, please,” and when that didn’t work, I hinted Melissa might be in danger,” Spencer answers. “He’s easy when you know the right buttons to push.” 

She pulls a print out from her bag. “Here’s the strange part - we know almost everything in here is total bullshit. Yet it says he checked out, clean as a whistle. Obviously, Wren’s cover story is good enough to pass a standard background check, since he’s been working for various hospitals for years. Claiming to be from the UK might help with that, most companies aren’t going to send somebody across an ocean to try and track down his birth certificate. But since when have my parents ever skimped on opposition research?”

“Never,” Alison agrees. 

“Your parents do background checks?” Paige asks in disbelief. “Do they have a file on me?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Spencer says, patting Paige’s leg. “Of course they do. My mom was impressed with the two goals you scored in the game against U Penn your sophomore year, she thought there was burgeoning lesbian symbolism in your third grade book report on ‘James and the Giant Peach,’ and she thinks your hair looks much better without bangs.”

“Oh my god,” Paige responds.

“The bangs thing is true,” Hanna nods. “But it begs the question - why would they be so thorough with Paige, but somehow miss the fact that their other daughter is shacking up with a sociopath?” 

“Do you think Wren knew someone was checking up on him?” Emily asks. “Maybe he threatened whoever they hired, or bribed them or something?”

“Maybe,” Spencer muses. “But if he did, they must have known he was hiding something. In which case, why not take it to my parents? That’s exactly the kind of thing they’d pay top dollar to know about.”

“Ezra Fitz,” Caleb says.

“Where?” Aria asks, sounding alarmed.

“No,” Caleb tells her, “not Ezra Fitz like he’s here. Ezra Fitz, like he might know something.”

“When your parents were helping us, after Charlotte hijacked the prison van,” he tells Spencer, “Fitz gave your parents this weird warning. They were about to dig into some of his files on ‘A,’ and he told them the boxes were full of their secrets, too. Maybe it wasn’t the investigator Wren threatened. Maybe he has something on your parents.”

“Please,” Spencer says. “My family runs on secrets and caffeine. But I can’t imagine any secret so big they would be willing to sacrifice Melissa to it.” She sighs, frustrated. “What about you guys,” she asks Hanna and Emily. “Any luck with Dr. Sullivan?”

“The short version is that she reported Dr. Rollins for trying to de-gay Maya by forcing her into a relationship with Lyndon James,” Hanna explains. “Emily and I had a little couples therapy, and then Rollins caught Ali and Em having a moment, which he interrupted with some harsh words and an attempted strangulation.”

“We’ve all had a busy morning,” Emily tells them, trying to downplay the incident.

“Wait, did he do that to your neck?” Spencer asks. “Jesus! I thought those were hickeys.”

“Because I’m a thirteen year old boy, Spencer?” Alison says sarcastically.

“Because you’re a wildebeest who likes to mark your territory,” Spencer replies. 

“Where is he?” Aria asks. “And who gets to hit him first?”

“Emily handled that part,” Hanna assures the table. “But if he touches her again, I’m taking his spleen.”

“You can live without a spleen,” Spencer tells Hanna. “Dibs on his pancreas.”

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Aria says. “Otherwise you would be terrifying.”

“Should we be getting the police involved?” Paige asks. “I’m serious,” she says, as everyone else at the table gives her an incredulous look. “This isn’t mysterious hoodies and menacing texts and mind games. This is a regular guy who lost his shit at the thought of his wife having an affair, and manhandled Emily. This is something they know how to deal with, right?” 

“We’ll see about that,” Caleb tells her. “Detective Tanner, five o’clock.”

“You made an appointment already?” Aria asks, confused.

“No,” Caleb says. “She’s here. She’s coming this way.”

The entire table turns to watch her stride towards them, Officer Barry Maple trailing along in her wake. 

“Ladies,” she says, surveying their stony faces. “It’s always a pleasure.” Her gaze seems to linger on Emily’s hand, which is resting on Alison’s knee, a few flecks of blood still visible on her shirt sleeve. The corners of her mouth curl upward into a satisfied half-smile. 

“What do you want?” Caleb asks, curtly.

“Emily Fields,” she says briskly, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for the aggravated assault of Dr. Joseph Rollins.”


	25. Streets to Philadelphia

Emily sits in the Rosewood Police Department’s holding cell with her head in her hands, wondering how long it will be before the underling dispatched from Veronica Hastings’ practice is going to be able to get her out.

She thinks about the awful scene in the restaurant, Paige’s shocked face, Spencer badgering Tanner about the charges while speed dialing her mother, Aria shouting at Tanner that Emily hadn’t done anything wrong, Hanna shouting as well until she went white and almost fainted against Caleb as she saw the metal bracelets of the handcuffs snapping around Emily’s wrists. Alison nearly beside herself, insisting that it was self-defense and grabbing at Tanner’s elbow until she was almost arrested herself.

Emily breathes deeply, doing her best to stay calm. Being locked in a small space isn’t great, but she knows it will be worse if she lets herself think about the Dollhouse. She wonders what the others are doing, as she shivers a little in her tanktop, thinks about how the police took her shirt to be processed as evidence.

She thinks about Alison, wondering about her marriage, how quickly she was willing to declare it a mistake. She thinks about Rollins’ words about Alison’s mother. Remembers Jessica, as flawed as she was, sitting across from her in the DiLaurentis living room, her words echoing down the years, “I wish that Ali could have returned those feelings. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to love her than you.” She thinks of Jessica’s love as a stack of dominoes, how her love for Charlotte led her to bury Alison alive. How her love for Kenneth allowed her to abandon Charlotte to Radley as a child. Alison isn’t like that, she tells herself. We’re not like that. She thinks of her own mother, wonders if she would be more appalled that Emily is back in jail, or back with Alison. Jail, Emily decides. Probably.

Then the cell door clangs open and her lawyer, a short woman with a severely stylish haircut, appears. “I’ve convinced them to knock it down to simple assault,” she announces. “So they’re releasing you on your own recognizance, which means -”

“I know what it means,” Emily tells her. “Thank you.”

“Let’s make sure we get some pictures of those bruises,” her lawyer says, whipping out her cell phone and taking several shots of Emily’s neck and left shoulder. “Veronica is coming down tomorrow to make some noise on your behalf. By the time she’s done, my guess is they’ll either be dropping the charges or reaching a settlement on a harassment claim.”

“Wow,” Emily says. “Thanks again.”

“Come on,” her lawyer says with a smile. “Your friends are waiting for you.”

\-------

The moment Emily appears in the waiting area, Alison throws her arms around her, holding her so tight that Emily almost can’t breathe. And then all thoughts about breathing and the rest of the world disappear, because Alison is kissing her ferociously, as if she’s a soldier coming home from war. It’s almost worth being in jail for a few hours, Emily thinks, if you can get out and have Alison DiLaurentis greet you like this.

“It’s getting very ‘Orange is the New Black’ in here,” Aria comments after a minute.

“They’re letting her go, Ali,” Hanna says. “You don’t have to have a conjugated visit right here in the lobby.”

“Conjugal,” Spencer corrects her. “But she’s right. If you get re-arrested for public lewdness, you’re on your own. I’m not putting up bail money.”

Alison waits another few moments before breaking the kiss. “Don’t be such a hard ass,” she tells Spencer, resting her head casually against Emily’s shoulder.

Emily blushes a little at the amused looks of her friends, then tries to play if off. “Alright,” she says. “What’s next?”

“Road trip to Philadelphia,” Spencer announces. “It’s time to catch up with our old English teacher.”

\-----

It’s not a long drive to Philadelphia, especially not the way Spencer drives. Alison sits next to Emily, pressing her body against her whenever there’s a sharp turn. Most of the time flies by in a blur of Spencer and Aria arguing about the specifics of the Ezra plan.

“You have the most sway with him,” Spencer says, for the sixth time. “You bat your eyelashes, and his little sweater vested heart will rip right open. If he’s reluctant to help us, you’re like the trump card.”

“I’m not a card, Spencer. I’m a person. A person who really does not want to waltz into an Ezra Fitz book signing,” Aria tells her.

“What happened with you two?” Hanna asks. “Where did all the bad blood come from? Is it because of his stupid book?”

“No,” Aria sighs. “He asked me to marry him.”


	26. You Can't Go Back to Constantinople

_Aria is standing at the window of a run down apartment in the old section of Istanbul. It has a high arched ceiling and the walls are painted a gorgeous yellow that does its best to disguise the crumbling plaster. She’s holding a camera with a long lens, shooting pictures of the birds soaring over a nearby mosque. Not all the time, but often enough these days, she lets herself take pictures of things that are beautiful._

_She is startled by a knock on the door, here in this city where she’s come precisely because she knows no one. She puts her eye to the peephole and sees only an enormous looking spray of orange flowers. A delivery, she thinks, opening the door._

_The orange flowers, an arrangement so big that they barely fit through the door, enter. There is a loud thunk as they are dropped to the floor. Aria winces, hoping the pot didn’t actually crack the floorboard, and looks up at the delivery boy. Who, it turns out, is not a boy at all, but Ezra Fitz smiling his best romantic comedy smile._

_“Surprise!” he says._

_“Ezra,” Aria says, more shocked than pleased. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I was in the neighborhood,” Ezra says, still grinning._

_“I thought you were still in Thailand,” she responds._

_“What’s half a world to people like you and me?” Ezra asks her, his arms flung open wide, as if he’s just waiting for her to fling herself at him, expects her to do so any moment now. His smile falters a little when she doesn’t, but he rallies, sweeping an arm around her waist and whirling her in a slightly manic circle. “Aria, I’ve spoken to your father.”_

_Aria feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach._

_“No,” Ezra says, seeing her face fall. “Everything is fine! Better than fine! Aria - the book! It’s fantastic. Phenomenal. It’s going to be a best seller!”_

_“Do you think I care about that?” Aria asks him, appalled. “All that time you spent watching us, Ezra. You still don’t know me at all.”_

_“I know you,” he declares, pulling her close enough that he can kiss her forehead. “I know every hair on your head, every line on your palm. I know how you wrinkle your nose when you’re annoyed, how you tug your feather earrings when you’re nervous. I know you, Aria. I learned how to make twenty three different recipes with chickpeas for you. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. ”_

_Aria pulls away, staring at the shape of his lips as he continues. “Veronica Hastings is finalizing all the settlements, Aria. She went after everyone, you’ll all clear seven figures when it’s done. And the book - the royalties, the movie rights - we could take off together! Watch the sunrise in Spain, drink rum on the beach in Cuba! Ride down Fifth Avenue on the hood of a taxi cab, drinking champagne like Scott and Zelda.”_

_He drops to one knee, pulls a ring from his pocket. “I love you, Aria. Will you become a Fitzgerald with me?”_

_Aria wonders if this is what drowning is like, how you’re supposed to see your whole life flash before your eyes. She sees Ezra kneeling down in front of her, but she also sees him kissing her in the bathroom of the Grille, standing in front of her English class that first day, kissing her in the car in the rain. She thinks, for a second, that this might be what it feels like to be Emily. To have to measure your relationship as a balance of how many of the lies were true, how much of the truth was a lie._

_“Zelda Fitzgerald died in an insane asylum,” she says._

_“Yes,” he says, excitedly. “But she lived life by her own rules. Like you and me! Don’t answer with your head, Aria. Answer with your heart.”_

_She looks at the ring, it’s a diamond spattered art deco piece. She looks at Ezra, kneeling there so full of plans he’s about to burst. She thinks of the paper bag selfies. Their first time in bed together. The godawful plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room where she sat for hours after he’d been shot. And for a second, she feels a flicker of her old feelings for him, looming like a huge and crazy shadow at the edge of the frame, the notes of a song you used to love that you can’t quite remember the words to anymore. She tries to imagine herself in this future he’s dreaming up for them, and realizes she can’t. It’s not her dream._

_“My heart says no,” she tells him._

_Ezra stands up. “I don’t believe that,” he tells her. “What we have, Aria - it’s old movie romance. It’s black and white. The hero gets the girl.”_

_“This isn’t a movie, Ezra,” she tells him sadly. “This is life. Everything we had, it’s the past. I don’t want to go backwards.”_

_“I would do anything for you,” Ezra insists. “Anything.”_

_“I know,” Aria replies. “I know that.”_

_“Then why are you doing this?” he asks, a note of pleading in his voice._

_“I’m twenty-one years old,” Aria tells him. “And I’m still trying to figure out who I am when I’m not scared for my life every day.”_

_“You know who you are when you’re with me,” Ezra says firmly._

_“When I’m with you, Ezra, I’m a little girl. And I’m trying to be a grown up” Aria explains. “One of us has to be.”_

_An ugly look creeps into Ezra’s face, an icy and indignant petulance. Aria thinks it’s clear he never even considered the possibility that she might turn him down._

_“You won’t be wanting this, then,” he says a little snidely, pocketing the ring. “Or these either,” he declares as he grabs the flowers and strides towards the open window, heaving them down into the street. Aria hears the heavy pot shattering against the cobblestones below, and thinks it’s the last sound she’ll ever hear of her sixteen year old heart._

_“You should go,” she tells Ezra. But she turns around, and he’s already gone._

\-----------

“After I said no, he hung around for weeks,” Aria explains. “He kept turning up everywhere. Coffee shops, cafes, in line at the movies. I’d develop a roll of film and he’d be in the background of every frame. I didn’t know what to do, so I left. I went back to Iceland. He followed me there, too. One night I was out drinking with some guys I knew, my ex-boyfriend Hallbjorn and some of his friends, and I saw him standing outside the window of the bar. When I told Hallbjorn, he jumped up and went after him. He came back twenty minutes later with seriously bruised knuckles, and I haven’t seen Ezra since.”

“How did you know he was going to be on Channel 10?” Emily asks.

“I stalk his twitter feed,” Aria says. “Life is funny, isn’t it?”

“You're not coming to the book signing,” Alison tells Aria, in a voice of command.

“I still say he’s more likely to give her answers than any of us,” Spencer insists.

“We need answers,” Emily says. “But not that badly.”

“It’s not a question of answers or Aria,” Alison explains. “He’ll want to see her. If she’s there, he gets what he wants and he doesn’t have to give us anything. If she’s not there, then we get to use her as the carrot, and we can be the stick.”

Spencer’s eyes meet Ali’s in the rearview mirror. “What if he insists on a meeting?” 

“Come on, Spence,” Alison says. “Put some art in your war. We’re the Pretty Little Liars.”


	27. Carrot and Stick

Spencer maneuvers into a parking spot a few blocks from the bookstore.

“What are you guys going to do?” Emily asks Hanna and Aria.

“We are going to check out the sale at Barney’s,” Hanna announces, grabbing Aria’s hand. “Mona said she saw some amazing things there last weekend. We’ll meet up with you later.” 

Caleb and Paige walk up, having found another parking spot further away. Caleb kisses Hanna and hands her the keys. “Don’t shop till you actually drop, okay?”

“We’ll do our best,” Hanna smiles.

“See you later, Carrot,” Spencer says to Aria.

“Good luck, Stick,” Aria replies, walking off after Hanna.

The remaining group walk determinedly towards the bookstore, Alison keeping a hand on Emily’s lower back. 

They pause for a moment outside the plate glass window, next to a sidewalk chalkboard announcing the Ezra Fitz book signing. There’s a line of teenage girls snaking towards a table piled high with copies of both “A is for Answers” and “Pretty Little Liars.” Ezra himself is not sitting behind the table, but perched against the front of it, where he’s inscribing a copy of “Pretty Little Liars” for a girl who looks about fourteen. Emily watches his hand linger against hers as he hands it back.

“We’ll triangulate,” Spencer informs them. “Caleb, you stay by the door. Paige and I will circle around from the back. Ali, Em, you two wait at the back of the line. When you make it up to the front, we’ll converge.”

The team splits up as directed, leaving Emily and Alison alone together, in the comparative privacy of the line. “How’s your neck?” Alison asks, running her fingers gently along Emily’s collarbone.

“It could have been worse,” Emily says. “All things considered, I’d rather they were hickeys.”

“Is that a request?” Ali smirks. “Seriously, Em - you’re not having second thoughts?”

“Are you?” Emily asks, worried.

“No!” Alison says. “No. It’s just, I’ve been thinking so much about what it would be like if you wanted to try again, and I pictured it more silk sheets and champagne.”

“As opposed to violent outbursts and arrest warrants?” Emily asks. “I know. Me, too.” She squeezes Alison’s hand. “We’ve got a lot to work through, Ali. But I’m up for it, if you are.”

Alison’s face is suffused with an expression that is equal parts happiness and relief. “This is really happening, then,” she says, but whatever she might have said next is interrupted by a ping on their cell phones. 

It’s from Caleb’s burner phone:

>Melissa. By the window. 

Emily starts to turn around, but Alison puts a restraining hand on her cheek. She pulls a compact out of her purse and moves the mirror until Melissa Hastings’ face is clearly visible, just outside the doorway.

Their phones ping again with Spencer’s response.

>Caleb. Ali. Follow. 

“Duty calls,” Alison says. She pulls a scarf out of her purse and wraps it over her hair, then produces a pair of a cat’s eye glasses with clear plastic lenses. Just like that, Emily thinks, she’s a different person. But then Ali leans in and kisses her on the edge of her mouth. “The night is still young,” she says, before she walks over to the corner where Caleb is observing Melissa over the top of a newspaper. Emily doesn’t turn around to see when they leave, just gets Caleb’s text a minute later confirming that they’re on the move.

The line moves forward a few feet. Emily can see Ezra leaning in closer to the girl at the front, asking her to spell her name, which is the not terribly difficult to spell “Liz.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Paige has taken up Caleb’s former station watching the door. As she nears the front of the line, she grabs a copy of “A is for Answers” and pretends to be engrossed. Close up, and without the magic of television, Ezra Fitz appears a little thicker around the waist, and his hair is combed in a way that suggests it might be thinning in the back. His smile is still the same, Emily thinks, except that it changes when he sees her. 

The smile freezes, as does something behind his eyes. “Emily,” he says, in a voice that tries for friendly and cheerful, but comes out sounding forced. “Imagine running into you here.”

“I came to see you,” Emily tells him. “We need your help.”

“We?” he says, and his whole demeanor changes. He’s like a dog sniffing the air. “Is Aria here?”

“She’s not,” Emily tells him.

“But I am,” Spencer says, her voice coming from behind his right shoulder. “We need to ask you a few questions about our homework, Mr. Fitz.”

Ezra chuckles. “You girls are never far apart. She is here, isn’t she?” He sets down the book he was about to sign and jumps to his feet. “Aria!” he shouts, moving past Spencer towards the back of the store. Emily hears the disgruntled muttering of the few people who were behind her in line, then follows Spencer, who is trailing Ezra through the self help aisle as he continues to whip around corners calling out Aria’s name.

Paige cuts him off in poetry. “Mr. Fitz,” she says. “Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The sight of Paige, however, only seems to encourage him. He pushes past her and catches sight of the entrance to the restrooms along the back wall. He shoves the door of the Women’s Room open and bursts inside. “Aria!” he says so loudly that it echoes a little off the tiled walls.

Emily, Spencer, and Paige crowd in after him, Paige wedging a wooden triangle block under the door to prevent anyone else from coming in. Spencer quickly checks that both stalls are empty, then starts in.

“We need help, Ezra. We need answers, and we think you can give them to us. If you ever cared for Aria, you’ll tell us what we need to know.” 

Ezra nods, a little reluctantly. “You’ll tell her I helped you?” he asks. “You’ll make sure she knows?”

Spencer nods. “I promise.”

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll help you if I can.”

“Have you been to see Charlotte DiLaurentis?” Spencer asks.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Why isn’t your name on the visitor’s log?” Spencer asks. “Are you E. Varjack?”

“No,” he says, shifting his gaze from Spencer to Emily, as if he’s still hoping Aria might pop out from behind her at any moment. “But I might know who is.”

“Why should we believe anything you have to say?” Emily asks her old boss. “How do we know you aren’t writing another book?”

“I am writing another book,” he admits. “That’s why I was interviewing Charlotte. But I didn’t sign in on the visitors log. I paid off one of the orderlies.”

“Let me guess,” Spencer says. “Eddie Lamb?”

Ezra shrugs. “Good guess,” he tells her.

“Did you know that Alison was pregnant when she disappeared?” Emily asks him.

“Look at you,” he says to her. “All grown up.” He pauses before answering further. “I suspected,” he says. “I tracked her to the sorority house, but I didn’t find out about the secret room and the adoption until she’d already moved on.”

“Why isn’t it in the book?” Spencer asks.

“Because I have a sense of decency, Spencer,” Ezra replies.

“It’s nice to think people can change,” Spencer says. “Seriously, though. You weren’t trying to protect anyone? Anyone who was in the habit of slipping you envelopes full of cash?”

Ezra bristles. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replies.

“We saw you,” Emily tells him. “On camera. Meeting with Ian and Wren.”

“I did some video work for them,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “I needed money to pay for Hollis.”

“You told me you dressed like a hot dog,” Emily tells him. “Not that you sold spycam footage of girls’ bedrooms.”

“That’s ancient history,” Ezra protests. “A youthful indiscretion.”

“What was Wren doing with the videos?” Spencer asks. “Where did the money come from?”

“No idea,” Ezra says. “I worked for Ian. I only met Wren a few times.”

“But you must have had a file on him later,” Spencer presses. “You had a picture of him in your apartment in Rosewood.”

“I had files on everyone,” Ezra says, noncommittally. “Everyone who might have been involved.”

“My parents?” Spencer asks.

“Boxes 61A and B,” Ezra replies. “But if I were you, Spencer, I’d be careful what I look for.”

“Why didn’t any of the ‘A’ teams ever expose your relationship with Aria to the police?” Emily asks. “Is it because you were working with Mona? With Cece?”

“I don’t like your tone,” Ezra says sourly. “Why are you acting like I’m the bad guy? I’m your friend, Emily. I love Aria. I took a bullet for her! For all of you!”

“Are you really playing the victim here?” Emily asks him, incredulously. “Because some of us have real problems, Ezra!”

“So this is the thanks I get?” Ezra says, bitterly. “I almost died! I got shot trying to save you girls on that rooftop! Spencer, Emily - you were there! Or have you forgotten?”

Paige, who has been silent throughout Spencer’s interrogation, chooses this moment to speak up. 

“Caleb got shot, too.” Paige reminds him. “Hanna got hit by a car. Aria was poisoned. Spencer nearly got thrown off a train. Emily was seconds away from being sawed in half. They all could have died at Thornhill Lodge! Or trying to escape from the Dollhouse! Almost dying - it’s not some special thing that only happened to you! Around here it’s like a regular Tuesday!”

Ezra pulls up his shirt to reveal a scar that runs across his abdomen. “I was a hero when it counted,” he insists.

“It takes more than a scar to make you a hero,” Paige says. “You should know that, Mr. Fitz. You were our English teacher.” 

“It’s not too late,” Spencer tells him. “Whatever you’ve done, whatever you didn’t do - help us now. Give us access to your old files.”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra says, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t have them anymore.”

“You’re lying,” Spencer tells him.

“I’m not,” Ezra replies. “I can tell you who took them. But I want you to give Aria a message for me.”

Spencer nods her agreement.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ezra says, prompting Paige to kick the door stopper out of the way, allowing them to swing the bathroom door open and head back into the store.

Ezra walks back to the signing table and grabs a copy of “Pretty Little Liars,” scrawling a note inside the cover. “Give this to her,” he says. “Please.”

“We will,” Emily promises, as he hands her the book.

“Consider it done,” Spencer tells him. “Your turn. Where are your files?”

“You wasted a trip coming to see me,” he replies. “If you want those files, Spencer - ask your mother.”


	28. Family Matters

Hanna has a hand on her hip, carefully appraising a black dress with bold pink stripes that Aria is holding up, when her phone pings.

“What’s up?” Aria asks, pulling a zebra print off the rack.

“A Melissa sighting at the book signing,” Hanna replies. “Caleb and Ali tailed her to the Monaco Hotel.”

“Do you think she’s involved?” Aria asks.

“She was married to Ian, she was close to Garrett, and she’s been dating Wren forever,” Hanna says. “Which, granted, could be a simple case of tragic taste in men. But she also has the rest of the N.A.T. videos, and she might be sleeping with Ali’s creep of a husband. Plus we nearly died in her backyard,” Hanna ticks off. “Whatever’s going on, Melissa Hastings is involved up to her perfectly plucked eyebrows.”

“Which one do you think?” Aria asks, switching the conversation back to the two dresses. 

“Don’t dress for the guy. Make him dress for you,” Hanna advises. “But probably the pink.”

“I’m going to try it on,” Aria says. “Meet at the clearance rack in five?”

Hanna is making her way over to the clearance section when she feels a hand on her shoulder, hears the words, “Excuse me, Miss. Do you have receipts for those items?”

Turning around, she comes face to face with Gabriel Holbrook, in a cheap brown suit and a Store Security name tag.

“Did you read ‘Gone Girl’?” he grins. “Did it remind you of anyone?”

“You know I always read the ending first,” Hanna says. “It totally RUINED that book for me.” She pauses. “Why are you acting like we’re friends?” she asks him. “Last time I saw you -”

“You fractured my wrist with that tire iron,” he tells her.

“I was aiming for your kneecap,” Hanna shrugs. “But whatever, you were menacing me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Holbrook says. “I always liked you. I was drunk, and I was so mad at Alison I wasn’t thinking straight.” He smiles again, and Hanna gives him a small smile in return. 

It’s hard to stay mad at someone, she thinks, when they’re wearing scuffed black dress shoes that make you feel sad inside.

“I thought about you for months after I read ‘Pretty Little Liars,’” he continues. “‘Anna Martin, the glamorous blonde with a body so dazzling it made men forget she had a serious brain lurking beneath those perfect highlights,’” he quotes. “Not me, though. I always knew you were smart.”

“I never should have talked to him about colleges,” Hanna muses. “What did he say about you? Did he call you Cade Brolhook?” 

“Hal Brooks,” he tells her. “‘A straight arrow who bent at the wrong time for the wrong girl.’ He’s a sleazy little pipsqueak, but he’s not a bad writer. It’s really good to see you, Hanna. Do you want to grab a coffee or something?”

Hanna shifts the pile of clothes she’s holding onto her other arm, subtly flashing her wedding ring in the process. Holbrook’s face falls a little.

“So that’s a no on the coffee date?” he asks. “Who is he? That Rivers kid?”

“One and the same,” Hanna says. “Four years and counting.”

“Well, he’s a lucky guy,” Holbrook says, genuinely.

“I’m the lucky one,” Hanna says. “But even if we don’t do coffee, maybe you can help me with something?”

“Need someone to carry your bags?” he asks. 

“No,” Hanna assures him. “Let’s say I was thinking about writing a mystery.”

“Seriously?” Holbrook says. 

“Maybe. But I need some help with part of the plot. And you used to be a detective. Could I run it by you?”

“Sure,” Holbrook says, enthusiastically. “Why not?”

“Say there’s a body in a grave,” Hanna says. “And the villain, they switched the dental records or something, so the police think it’s someone who’s really still alive. How would you figure out whose body was buried?”

“This story sounds strangely familiar,” he grins. “I’d suggest DNA or fingerprints. But if your bad guy switched the dental records, they probably thought of that, too.”

“You know how it is with psychopaths,” Hanna says. “They’re always brilliant, right?”

“Then I’d have your detective go over the autopsy report for clues,” Holbrook suggests. “And double check any physical copies of records, they’re probably harder to fake than computer scans.”

“What would you look for,” Hanna asks. “On the autopsy report?”

“How long the body had been in the ground, to check against missing persons reports” he answers. “Tattoos or piercings. A titanium hip. Anything like that might help pin down an identity.”

“Fascinating!” Hanna exclaims. “So tell me, how did you figure out that it was Bethany Young in Alison’s grave? If the dental records were already switched once, were you running them again against every missing girl in the area or what?”

“This is sounding less and less hypothetical,” Holbrook observes. “And if I read it in a book, I’d call it lazy. We got a tip.”

“An anonymous tip?” Hanna presses.

“This isn’t for a novel, is it?” Holbrook asks.

“You never know,” Hanna tells him. “Come on. Spill! It’s not like they can fire you again.”

“It was supposed to be anonymous,” he replies. “But I recognized her voice.”

“Her voice?” Hanna repeats, prompting him to continue.

“What the hell,” Holbrook says. “Her voice. It was Melissa Hastings.”

\--------

“News,” Hanna says, walking into the bar at the Monaco Hotel laden with shopping bags. “Big news. Purple marker! Melissa told the cops it was Bethany Young’s body in Alison’s grave.”

“What?” Spencer says, stunned. “No. She buried the body. She thought it was Alison. She did it to protect me.”

“Because that’s so like Melissa?” Alison asks.

“Are you saying she lied?” Spencer counters.

“Because that’s so like Melissa,” Alison declares.

“How did you find that out at Barney’s?” Emily asks.

“We found some amazing things,” Aria explains. “Two new dresses, three pairs of shoes, and Holbrook working as a store security guard.”

“So did Melissa know it was Bethany? Or that it wasn’t Bethany?” Spencer ponders.

“It’s like an Escher painting,” Caleb comments. “But speaking of Melissa, she’s staying here tonight. She met someone at the bar, then went up to a room on the fifth floor.”

“Who was she meeting?” Hanna asks. 

“No one I recognized,” Caleb responds. 

“Me either,” Alison confirms. “This was the best picture we could get without being seen.” She shows them a picture on her phone, of Melissa sitting next to a tall black woman at the bar. Melissa is facing the opposite direction, but appears to be passing her companion a note written on a cocktail napkin. The woman’s face is obscured by a cascade of tight curls that reach down to her shoulder.

“They left the bar about fifteen minutes apart,” Caleb reports. “But she headed up to the fifth floor as well.”

“Oh my god,” Aria says. “Is Melissa an escort?”

“She’s not an escort!” Spencer retorts. “She’s a Hastings.”

“She’s in room 509,” Alison informs them. “I tried to get a room on either side of her, but the whole floor is sold out.”

“And the security cameras are disabled,” Caleb adds. 

“What’s she up to?” Paige wonders.

“We should try to find out, if we can,” Alison suggests. “Em and I can stake it out. We’ll take the train back tomorrow morning.”

Emily nearly chokes on her drink, as this plan is not one that Alison bothered to share in advance. Alison pats her on the back smoothly, as if her suggestion is really all about the mystery. For the greater good. It’s a decent cover, but it’s not fooling anyone.

“A stake out?” Spencer says, in an amused voice. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“I got the room above hers,” Alison says, ignoring her. “It’s not much, but there’s a chance we might be able to learn something.” She pauses, then takes the bull by the horns. “I don’t want to go home tonight, okay? I’d rather give Joseph some time to cool off before I try talking to him again.” 

“Good call,” Hanna agrees. “And Emily’s had a rough day, she deserves a good -”

“Thanks, Hanna,” Emily interjects. “We’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hanna says. “Investigate hard.”

Twenty minutes later, the others are heading for their cars, leaving Emily and Alison alone at the table. 

Alison pulls the room key out of her purse, and leans in close to Emily’s ear. A favorite trick, Emily remembers. Choosing to whisper, even when they’re alone.

“How do you feel about room service?” Ali murmurs. “I’m sure they have champagne.” 

\-------

Upstairs, the door to room 509 opens slowly. An unseen figure enters the room, and heads directly to Melissa Hastings’ stylish leather messenger bag, resting on the bed. A hand reaches inside and flips through several files stamped as “Property of Radley Sanitarium.” The file tabs display the names on each record: Bethany Young. Charlotte DiLaurentis. Mona Vanderwaal. Wren Kingston. Beneath the final file, the dim hotel lighting glints off the gray metal barrel of a loaded Glock 22 handgun. 

The door to the bathroom opens and Melissa appears in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a white towel. “What are you doing here?” she exclaims, her eyes wide with surprise.

“I need you to be honest with me, Melissa,” Veronica Hastings demands. “How much does Spencer know?”


	29. Never Mind the Darkness

Emily leans against the doorframe as she watches Alison in the bathroom mirror. Her stomach feels fluttery, as if the sight of Ali here and now has summoned all the old butterflies back to life.

“Have you done this before?” she asks Alison’s reflection.

For a moment, it seems like Ali might play the question off, make a snappy joke about how many times, exactly, she and Emily have been together. But she doesn’t. “I’m not cheating on him, Emily. I’m leaving him. There’s a difference.”

Emily moves behind her, puts a hand on Alison’s shoulder, gently kisses the side of her neck. “Why did you do it?” she asks. “Why did you marry him?”

“It’s complicated,” Alison replies, as if that’s all she wants to say about it. As if it’s enough to close down the discussion. 

“Well,” Emily says, “we’ve got all night.”

The look on Alison’s face, as she’s running a wash cloth under steaming hot water, is similar to the one she wears when the barista makes her repeat her order at Starbucks, when a pedestrian is taking too long to cross the street in front of her car. Like she absolutely can not believe that Emily Fields is going to stand there and insist that they go through all this emotional processing right now. 

Leave it to Emily, she thinks. They have a king bed and a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. The option to just fuck their way back to each other is literally five feet away from where they’re standing. But of course, Emily wants to talk things through, first. She’s such a lesbian.

“You won’t like my answer,” Alison warns.

“Do you think there’s any answer I would like?” Emily asks. “Come on, Ali. Just tell me the truth.”

Alison has always loved the way truth sounds from Emily’s mouth. Like they’re kids watching superhero cartoons about Truth, Justice, and the American Way. If you listen closely enough, you can hear the capital letter. Alison imagines it white and shining, 45 feet tall like the Hollywood sign.

“Fine,” Alison says, running the washcloth over her face. “He looked at my legs. And I wanted to hurt you.”

Emily flinches at her answer, but she doesn’t back away.

“The whole story,” Emily requests. “Not the two sentence recap.”

Alison’s eyes meet Emily’s in the mirror. She thinks about how it all started with Emily, a thoughtless childhood game. A vulnerability she could exploit. She plotted to make this sweet, shy, beautiful girl fall in love with her, just to see if she could. Just to see what it would feel like. 

She never considered what it might do to her to be loved by Emily Fields. She couldn’t have guessed all the ways that trick would boomerang through the dark cave of her own heart. Nine years later, here she is, still caught squarely in her own trap. She busies herself for a moment scrubbing at her waterproof mascara, watching the cloth turn black under her hand.

She’s already washed off most of her concealer, Emily thinks. Emily remembers their first experiments with makeup, how Alison loved the way it could make her look older. Now she looks a little older without it. Not much, but a little. Especially around the mouth.

“I thought you were done with me, Em. And it felt like being buried alive all over again. Joseph was my therapist, and he was so - understanding. One day, I caught him staring at my legs. That’s all it was. Instead of feeling sad about us, I felt powerful again. It had that extra little kick of being against the rules, testing it out to see how far I could get him to go. When he wanted to get married, all I could think about was how much I wanted to feel different. To be different. He was there. It was easy. I thought maybe I could live a normal life.”

Emily clearly hates this answer as much as Alison expected her to, but she doesn’t move away. Sometimes Alison forgets the way Emily, by now, can shed weakness effortlessly, instinctively. She’s had years of practice, burnished the edges of all her old fears and insecurities until they became something hard and bright, a square cut diamond.

Alison pauses to scrub the mascara from her other eye as she continues. “And I knew it would hurt you. I thought doing that would change the story. Make it like I never cared about you at all. Act like it was true until it finally felt like it was true. You’d be surprised how well that works, most of the time.”

“Did you know he was violent?” Emily asks. “And homophobic?”

Alison rinses out the washcloth. “He’s older,” she says. “He’s old fashioned.” She wipes off the last of her makeup as she turns and rests a hand against the bruised side of Emily’s neck. “I’d never seen him get violent before. He was like a completely different person.” 

Emily moves her right hand to the back of Alison’s head, searching out the injury hidden under her hair. Her fingers graze the old scar, left by the rock all those years ago.

“How does it feel?” Emily asks, softly.

Alison holds Emily’s gaze and tells the truth. “It scares the hell out of me,” she says.

And finally, finally, Emily is kissing her slow and sultry and breathless. Alison feels the same spark she felt that first time in the library, the one she told herself was probably static electricity from the industrial carpet. Emily pushes Ali against the sink, but Alison tugs the front of Emily’s shirt and leads them out of the bathroom, over to the bed. 

Alison breaks the kiss as Emily tumbles backwards across the mattress. She takes a moment to look at Em, cheeks flushed and smiling in that sexy in the sheets way that she has.

“Tell me what you want,” Emily says, in a voice that’s a little huskier, a little lower than usual. Alison feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

What Alison wants is to make love, wants to do it with the lights on, without any masks at all. Wants to look at Emily with her own eyes, let Emily reach the parts of her buried so far down, she isn’t even sure what they look like anymore. 

Just to see what it might feel like. She wonders if Emily will notice.

Alison unties the belt of the white hotel bathrobe and lets it drop to the floor. She crawls into the bed naked and rolls on top of Emily.

When Emily’s mouth is sucking Alison’s earlobe, when her hand finds Alison’s breast, she feels how hard Ali’s heart is pounding beneath her fingers. Emily has been in love with at least 42 different versions of Alison DiLaurentis, she got drunk with Hanna one night and counted. This one feels different.

It feels, Emily thinks, like swimming on pace to break a record, that moment when you feel how much the water wants to give way to you. She pulls Alison closer, starts trailing her lips down Ali’s body, and it keeps feeling like that - wet and hot and electrifying.

It reminds her of their first time, back in high school, the sleepover when they did everything but sleep. She has a flash memory of how it felt to try and pour all the love she’d ever felt for Ali, all the things she’d always felt and never said, into the movement of her fingers, the glide of her tongue, just to see what it would feel like, in case she never get another chance to show her. 

Emily feels her entire body tingling with that same feeling now, like every cell is channeling all the years of passion and fury, adoration and mistrust, lust and confusion, and bigger than all of them the enormous weight of her simple stupid love for every Alison she’s ever known, from every Emily she’s ever been. And the Alison she’s with right now, the one whose thighs are falling open as Emily thrusts against her a little roughly, this Alison is taking it all in like she’s been thirsty for it all this time. She’s whimpering Emily’s name and digging her nails into Emily’s back and kissing every part of Emily’s skin she can reach.

Alison is thinking about their first time together, too. All the ways she expected it to be clear cut transaction, offering sex as the currency for trust. But then Emily met her with so much intensity, so much fierce wild tenderness, Alison couldn’t help but get swept up in the tide. Couldn’t help drowning in it, a little, swallowing as much as she could. 

Here and now, as Emily does a little trick with her tongue that pushes Alison completely over the edge, as she comes hard against Emily’s mouth, she feels like she’s having one of those dreams where you’re falling endlessly through space, the kind that jolts you awake in a panic, only Emily is there, she’s right there, to catch her, to break her fall.


	30. What Lies Beneath

Emily’s eyes are heavy lidded with lack of sleep, but she’s trying to look alert as she waits in the office of Veronica Hastings. She’s glad the high backed leather chair is so uncomfortable, or she might just fall asleep right here, her mind buzzing with the memories of the night before.

Her head is actually nodding, but she jerks it back up at the sound of Veronica’s entrance, the swirl of power suit and aggressive perfume as she gets right down to business. 

“They’re dropping the charges,” Veronica Hastings announces. “On the condition that you will not contest an Order of Protection that stipulates you must keep 100 feet away from Dr. Joseph Rollins at all times. If you violate the restraining order, you will be arrested. Again.” 

“I understand,” Emily nods. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hastings.”

Veronica looks at Emily, this grown woman sitting across the desk from her, and remembers the summer Pam Fields first moved to town. How many times she came home from work to see Spencer bossing Emily through some new game she’d just invented, and Emily going along with it contentedly. Whatever happened, Veronica thinks, to that skinny little girl with grass stains on her clothes and perpetually skinned knees?

She nearly snorts at her own sentimentality. Alison DiLaurentis happened to her, of course. Alison DiLaurentis happened to them all. 

“You’re lucky to get off.” Veronica says. “You broke his nose.”

Emily blinks at her sleepily. Veronica wonders if she might be stoned. She has an overwhelming urge to scold her, ground her, send her to bed without dinner.

“I’d suggest you be very careful while you’re here in town, Emily. If you so much as jaywalk in front of Detective Tanner, you could find yourself right back here.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Emily says politely. 

\------

Two hours later, Emily is standing guard while Paige breaks into Veronica’s gym locker at the country club. 

“Since when did you become a cat burglar?” she asks curiously.

“Spencer took me to a lock picking class on our third date,” Paige grins, applying pressure to the shackle and springing the lock open. She rifles through Veronica’s bag, tossing her keys to Alison.

“Forty five seconds,” Alison says to Paige. “Impressive. How long does it take Spencer to get out of a pair of handcuffs?”

“Twenty two seconds,” Paige answers automatically. “In case, you know, if she ever gets arrested again,” she amends, blushing furiously as she grabs Veronica’s cell phone.

“Hurry,” Hanna hisses from her position near the door to the tennis courts. “Spencer just double faulted. Her mom is going to know something is up.”

Alison calmly continues to duplicate each of Veronica’s keys using a mold, but smiling a little more than usual while she does it. If she’s tired, Emily thinks, she’s not showing it.

“Anya says the Fitz files are with the rest of the settlement papers,” Paige announces. “Veronica must have used whatever he had to force those admissions of negligence from everyone else. They’re in a storage unit off Route 30.” She deletes the conversation and replaces the phone. Alison finishes with the keys, which are swiftly put back into Veronica’s bag. The locker is locked, and they’re all scrambling out the locker room door where Caleb is disguised as a janitor, mopping the same three feet of floor over and over. They hurry out the front entrance, where Aria, dressed like a Halloween costume of a getaway driver - she’s actually wearing driving goggles - already has the car running.

\---------

Emily is napping on the Montgomery’s couch. Spencer having excused her from the file retrieval mission after Hanna reported that she fell asleep in the getaway car on the way home. Alison was excused, too, guilty by association. Emily’s chest rises and falls, a small snore rises in her throat. Even asleep, a part of her is aware of Alison sitting nearby, watching her sleep.

She wakes up to the clattering noise of Spencer, Caleb, and Paige coming in with boxes and boxes of Fitz related documents in tow. She and Ali rouse themselves to help unload Paige’s pick up and a black van that Caleb borrowed from Lucas.

The living room is soon overrun with boxes stacked on every available surface. Hanna swoops in to move her shopping bags from the night before, and then hands one to Emily.

“Your girlfriend texted me to pick you up a new purse,” Hanna explains. “Since yours got singed beyond stylishness at Jenna’s the other night.”

Emily takes the bag, a peace offering for their newly repaired friendship. Like Hanna calling Alison her girlfriend without even rolling her eyes, like Alison asking Hanna for a favor. Maybe, Emily thinks, everything is going to work out alright.”

“Thanks,” Emily says. “That was really nice of both of you.”

“Well,” Alison says, holding up Emily’s blackened handbag that still isn’t completely free of broken glass, “I’m afraid this one is beyond saving.”

“What’s so heavy in here?” she asks curiously, reaching in and pulling out the bottom of Jenna’s snow globe.

“That’s where she had the flash drives hidden,” Emily explains. 

“Why didn’t she just hand them to you?” Alison asks, raising an eyebrow. She pulls away the felt, and turns on a desk lamp to examine the ceramic base. “I think part of it is hollow,” she announces.

Emily takes it from Alison and shakes it. There’s a faint rattle, as if something more is concealed inside.

“Should I break it?” Emily asks.

“Carefully,” Alison nods.

Emily smashes the base of the snowglobe against the surface of the fireplace mantel. Shards fly in all directions. There, amid the chunks of plaster, is an orange key with the number 214 on it.

Spencer is bringing the last of the boxes in when she hears the crash and comes over to investigate. “That looks like a locker key for a roller skating rink,” she observes. “Remember the one we used to go to when we were kids?”

“Where I ate so much cotton candy that I barfed during the backwards skate?” Hanna asks. “Unfortunately, I do.”

“Didn’t it close down our freshman year?” Aria asks.

“It’s been abandoned ever since,” Alison agrees. “I stayed there a few times when I was on the run. Shana met me there once.”

“So this might be Shana’s key,” Emily speculates. “Maybe she stashed something there for you, before she decided she wanted to kill us all?”

“Can you still get us in there?” Spencer asks Alison.

“They put new fencing around the place a few years ago,” Alison says, shaking her head. 

“So what do we need?” Hanna asks. “Bolt cutters?”

“Or a good cover story,” Alison suggests, picking up her phone.

A little googling, and one fake phone call from ‘Nancy at DiLaurentis Real Estate’ later, they have an appointment to meet with one very excited property manager in half an hour.

\------

The property manager, a ferrety middle aged guy, has the gates of the fence open for them when they arrive. Alison is driving them all in Spencer’s SUV, Hanna, Emily and Caleb up front, and Aria, Spencer, and Paige concealed under a blanket in the back. 

Hanna steps out into the gravel parking lot, sunglasses on, a scarf tied around her hair, and a white fur stole that Emily hopes is fake wrapped around her shoulders. “You know you’re supposed to be a developer, right?” Emily whispers. “Not a movie star?”

“Back off,” Hanna says, with a wave of her hand. “And get me a bubbly water.”

“Sorry,” Caleb apologizes. “She’s in character.”

“Watch it, Mister,” Hanna tells him. “I can fire you with a snap of my fingers.”

“I thought I was a developer, too,” Caleb protests. “I’m wearing a tie!” 

“With jeans,” Hanna observes. “You’re clearly my secretary.” She sweeps off into the building, leaving the rest of them to have to jog a little to keep up.

“Welcome,” the property manager says. “I’m Bill Williams.”

“Charmed,” Hanna says, “Anna Martin. Developer to the stars.”

Alison rolls her eyes. “Mr. Williams,” she says, in the collected professional tone of someone who might really be buying this property. “We spoke on the phone. I’m Nancy with DiLaurentis Real Estate.”

“A pleasure to meet you both!” he says.

“This is my secretary, Haleb,” Hanna says with a careless gesture over her shoulder. “And my banker, Ashley.”

“A private banker,” Bill Williams says, trying to contain his elation. “Well! Shall I show you around, then?”

“Please do,” Hanna insists. “I have a very famous client planning to launch a juice bar empire.”

Emily hangs back and unlocks the side door. As she catches up to Hanna’s entourage, she sees Aria, Spencer, and Paige poking their heads inside to scope out the situation.

Bill Williams has led their group over to the remains of the concession stand, and is staying upbeat with a short spiel on how well maintained the building is, despite the rusty popcorn machine and dead refrigerator immediately behind him. There’s a stain on the floor from when the slushy machine still worked, and it looks like rats may have nibbled at it until they started burrowing into the plaster of the floor tiles.

Emily sees the heads of Aria, Spencer, and Paige peeping out over the edge of the carpeted barrier of the rink. Spencer makes a thumbs up motion and gestures to the wall of lockers, still intact. Then she points at some stairs on the other side of the building, that presumably lead to offices or storage upstairs.

“Can we see the upstairs?” Emily asks. “We’d like to make sure the structure and stairs are up to code before investing.”

“Of course!” he agrees instantly. “I’m sure you’ll find everything satisfactory,” he assures them, kicking something that might be a dead squirrel under the counter with the tip of his shoe.

“This used to be the DJ booth,” he explains, walking up the stairs behind Hanna and Emily. “And a bit of an observation platform, one way glass, you can see -”

Hanna and Emily lock eyes, realizing the second level provides a clear view of the other three at the bay of lockers, pulling out something wrapped in a black trash bag.

Hanna grabs Emily’s face and kisses her, sliding her tongue into Emily’s shocked mouth, sucking lightly on her bottom lip.

“Please excuse her,” Alison says, apologetically, grabbing Hanna by the ruff of the white fur stole and pulling her away from Emily. “She’s on a new medication which really should not be mixed with alcohol.”

“It’s quite alright,” Bill Williams says, red faced and adjusting his trousers, his eyes still locked on Hanna and Emily.

“My private banker approves,” Hanna says grandly. “I’ll have my people call your people, Billy.”

\------

“What?!” Hanna says to Ali as they pile back into the car. “I saved our bacon up there!”

“Shut up, Hanna,” Alison says.

“It’s not like I did anything you wouldn’t do,” Hanna grumbles. “What was in there, anyway?”

It’s then that Emily notices the faces of the other three, shocked and unsmiling.

“It’s a box addressed to Wren Kingston in London, care of Melissa Hastings,” Spencer says in a hollow voice. 

“And?” Alison says. “What’s inside?”

“Blueprints,” Spencer says. “And a model. For the Dollhouse.”


	31. Council of War

All seven of them sit around Aria’s dining room table, staring at the plastic scale model of the Dollhouse.

“Look at it,” Spencer says quietly. “It’s huge.”

“It looks way bigger than the part we were in,” Aria agrees.

“It does,” Spencer says, pointing to the model. “This is the exit with the electrical fence around it, and this must be one we got out through.” She traces the path between them, thinking of Mona and her 90 second exploring missions each night. “It’s not even half of one wing.”

“Didn’t they explode it or something?” Hanna asks. “I mean, it can’t still be down there, right?”

“They poured dirt into it and paved over the entrances,” Spencer says. “But if they didn’t realize it connected - it looks like there was another secret passage out of the vault - all of the other space could still be usable.”

“This has to be it,” Alison declares. “This has to be where Charlotte is.”

“I think you’re right,” Emily agrees. “It makes sense either way. If she was kidnapped, this would be the perfect place for Wren to hold her. And if she escaped, it would be the perfect place for her to hide.”

“What do we do?” Aria asks.

Spencer looks around the table, and it’s as if Caleb and Paige and even Alison don’t exist. She looks at Hanna and Aria and Emily, reading the same fear and determination on every one of their faces.

“We go back in,” Spencer says.

“We take it by force,” Emily agrees.

“We find whatever’s down there,” Aria adds.

“And we burn it to the fucking ground.” Hanna declares.


	32. Ragnarök

Emily and Spencer are at the register of a sporting goods store, their cart laden with ammunition, a tranquilizer gun, various other pieces of tactical gear.

“You ladies hunters?” the old man behind the register asks. 

“Yes,” Spencer tells him. “We’re loaded for boar.”

\-----

At Aria’s house, Paige is loading first aid supplies into a backpack. As if she’s going on a hike, she thinks. A hike that could require tourniquets and Rescue Chest Seals.

Caleb walks in the back door with a shotgun.

\-----

Emily calls her mom, talks to her for fifteen minutes about nothing. About her dad’s work in the recruitment office, how hot it is in Texas, a new recipe for bourbon mashed sweet potatoes she wants to try for Thanksgiving this year.

“Are you alright, honey?” Pam asks. “Your voice sounds a little funny.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Emily assures her. “I love you.”

\-----

Aria texts Jason, asks if he wants to go to dinner tomorrow. She thinks of it as a pledge to the universe, a little electronic prayer she’ll still be alive and not kidnapped when tomorrow night rolls around. Now she has something funny and sort of comforting to tell herself. I can’t die, she thinks, I have a date.

\----

Upstairs in Byron’s old room, Spencer is sorting through a stack of tactical gear. She tosses a handful of roadside flares into the maybe pile while listening to Paige protest against her plan. Paige can argue for hours and never give an inch, which is one of the things Spencer loves best about her in general, but hates with equal measure in this particular moment.

“There’s so much we still don’t know,” Paige says. “All of Ezra’s files, there could be information.”

“It would take us weeks to go through them, and you know it,” Spencer responds. “We have a shot to end this. We take the shot. We take it now.”

“But you have proof!” Paige insists, waving her hands dramatically. “Those plans tie Wren to the Dollhouse!”

“It’s no good. There’s no chain of custody,” Spencer says, exasperated. “He’ll claim it was planted by Shana and Tanner will probably arrest us for trespassing at the skating rink.”

“Okay, not the police! But look around, Spencer! When your bed is covered in kevlar and gas masks and tranquilizer guns - it’s time to call someone! Your parents! The FBI! The National Guard!”

Spencer closes her eyes and wishes for a moment she could be Alison. How simple the solution would be. She imagines sleeping pills dissolved in a cup of milky tea, pictures herself handing it to Paige to calm her nerves. She shakes her head.

“You don’t have to come,” Spencer says quietly.

“If you go, I go,” Paige tells her. “But I am begging you to think this through.”

“Do you honestly think I haven’t?” Spencer growls, on the verge of losing it completely. “You don’t get it, do you Paige? You can call whoever you want! The CIA! The NSA! The Navy fucking SEALS! No one can help us! No one can save us! We have to do it. We have to do it ourselves!”

Paige looks at Spencer’s face for a long moment. She nods. She starts sorting the gas masks.

\----------

Downstairs in the kitchen, Hanna is slathering mayo on the makings of a turkey sandwich and ignoring the way Caleb’s eyebrows are furrowed together.

“No way, Hanna,” he says for at least the fifteenth time.

“Don’t you dare try to fight me on this,” Hanna says, waving the butter knife in his direction for emphasis.

‘There’s no fight,” Caleb says. “I’m saying no.” 

“You don’t get to make choices for me,” Hanna tells him.

“But I should get to make choices for us,” Caleb pleads. “If you love me, Hanna--listen to me now. Do not go back down there. This is way too dangerous.”

“They’re going, Caleb. I’m going with them.”

“This is not the time to be a Viking,” he tells her, taking her by the shoulders and staring hard into her eyes. “This is the time to think about the future, to think about what you want it to look like.”

“Do you honestly think that I’m not?” Hanna asks. “Don’t you get it? No one is safe unless all of us are safe! And no one is fucking safe as long as there is still a Dollhouse out there!” 

She takes a deep breath and puts her hand over his. “When I think about the future, I want us be happy. I want us to have a completely boring normal PEACEFUL life. And if I have to walk back into that hell hole, if I have to kill every fucking predator in this town with my bare hands to get it, that’s what I’ll do.”

“You can keep talking,” Hanna tells him, taking a bite of the sandwich. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“I believe you,” Caleb replies. He leans against the counter, puts his head in his hands and cries.

Hanna puts her head on his shoulder, rubs small circles on his back. She doesn’t change her mind.

\---

Spencer has decided they will move on the Dollhouse at dawn. Aria sets her alarm, and sits on her bed reading Ezra’s copy of “Pretty Little Liars.” She runs her fingers idly over the name on the dust jacket as she turns the pages.

\----

In the living room, Emily stands behind Alison, kicking her feet a little further apart, stretching their arms forward together as she shows Ali the right shooting stance to hold and fire the .357 Magnum in her hand. Ali is listening with stern faced determination. That doesn’t stop her from brushing her ass against Emily’s hips a little more often, a little more obviously than she really needs to. Alison thinks guns are pretty straightforward, you point and you shoot. But if Emily Fields wants to stand behind her like this and give her a lesson, she won’t complain. Em’s always big on the right way to do things. It’s like happy endings, another item on the long list of ideas Emily believes in that Alison does not.

Alison turns and kisses Emily hungrily, like she can maybe taste the hope on Emily’s tongue, maybe absorb a little of it for herself. 

“What is it?” Emily asks her, as they break apart.

“Look at us,” Alison says. “We’re back. And we’re better than ever.”

\-----

It’s still dark when they load the cars in the morning. Most of the gear goes with Paige and Spencer in the pick up, but some is loaded in Spencer’s SUV, which Emily is driving to the rendezvous point with Alison and Aria. Caleb and Hanna are supposed to be the third car in the convoy, operating under Spencer’s strict instructions that they stick together, headlights off, no speeding. Hanna runs back upstairs right before it’s time for the convoy to leave, needing to pee before they go into battle.

“Go,” Caleb tells them. “We’ll be right behind you.”

\-----

Hanna is still upstairs in the bathroom when she hears the sound of the car starting in the drive. She peers out the window and sees Caleb driving away. “Sonofabitch,” she says to the empty house. She heads downstairs to text Emily or Spencer to come back for her, but when she gets to her purse, she sees that Caleb - damn him - has taken her phones.

She grabs her gear and throws the front door open, planning to hotwire a car if she has to, and also wishing she had her phone to google exactly how hotwiring a car works. Whatever, she thinks, I can improvise. 

She’s startled by a hand on her shoulder, a voice saying, “Hanna, wait.”

“Lucas, what are you doing here?” she asks impatiently, taking in his beefier physique, his cultivated facial hair. “I’m in a hurry.”

“I’m really sorry, Hanna,” Lucas says, and for all the ways he’s changed since she first met him, he’s still looking at her all big eyes and nasally voice. 

That’s when she sees the taser in his hand.

\--------

Caleb rolls up to the rendezvous point alone.

“Where’s Hanna?” Emily asks.

“Sorry,” he answers grimly, pulling the shotgun out of the trunk. “Hanna couldn’t make it.”


	33. HydrA

“No,” Aria says in disbelief. “What are you saying? Hanna’s not - she’s not coming?”

“That’s impossible,” Emily agrees. “Caleb, what’s going on?”

“Em,” Alison says, “You know she wouldn’t hang back if she didn’t have a good reason.”

“We don’t have time for a debate,” Spencer says, checking her watch. “The longer we’re out here, the better chance we lose the element of surprise.”

“Are we going to do this thing or not?” Caleb asks.

Just then, there’s a sound of squealing tires as Lucas Gottesman’s black van careens towards them. It slams to a stop with a noise almost like thunder, and Hanna Marin, her face a mask of savage fury hops out. She stalks directly towards Caleb, who closes his eyes as if the sight of her in this moment is causing him physical pain. Hanna whips a taser out of her pocket and discharges 50,000 volts against his neck. 

Caleb falls to his knees, the curls into a fetal position on the ground, where he writhes for a few seconds before the muscles spasms pass. “Jesus, Hanna!” he says.

“Lucas didn’t like it much, either, asshole!” she replies. She turns her back on him and faces the others. “I’m here,” she announces. “Lets roll.”

Paige helps Caleb to his feet, and they follow as the others form a power triangle with Alison at the tip, Emily and Hanna on her right, Spencer and Aria on her left. Hanna is dressed head to toe in black leather, a bottle of lighter fluid and the taser clipped to her belt. Emily is in desert beige camo pants, one of her dad’s old green Army shirts, and a black kevlar vest, a Beretta M9 semi-automatic holstered under her shoulder. Alison, at the head of their column, is dressed for war like she’s heading out to a club, in tight black jeans and a slinky black crop top. She has the .357 Magnum hanging off her hip. Spencer is wearing cargo pants laden with hardware, a long sleeved black shirt and a kevlar vest, with a massive tranquilizer gun slung across her back. Aria’s main nod to the nature of their trip appears to be steel toed combat boots, laced up to her knees, almost reaching the hem of her black dress, the tip of the knife sheath fastened to her waist. She has a fire extinguisher almost as big as she is strapped to her back. They all have gas masks strapped around their necks.

“You’re wearing heels?” Emily asks Hanna.

“If I’m going to die, I want to look as hot as possible,” Hanna replies. 

They move towards the old Campbell barn as a single unit, descending the stairs to the basement that used to serve as Charlotte’s lair. It’s been cleared of all ‘A’ related evidence, but the years have left it musty and smelling like rotting leaves. Spencer moves to the wall behind where the monitors would have been. She runs her hands over and across it, before finding the catch inside a hole that looked like a perfectly regular knot in the foundation. A section of the wall springs upward to reveal a hidden space the size of a small closet. It is empty, except for what looks like a hinged manhole cover with a visible locking mechanism so complex, it looks like the interior workings of a clock.

Spencer looks at it for a few seconds, then begins to turn the gears. Within two minutes, she has it open.

Emily shines a flashlight into the hole and sees the beam bounce off a metal ladder leading downward. They all stare down into the abyss. Then Spencer nods, their defacto general, as if only now deciding that she’s really going to go through with it. 

She climbs down. The rest of the troops follow.

As soon as their feet hit the floor, the hallway is flooded with light. “Let’s hope that’s a motion sensor,” Emily mutters.

“No cell signal,” Spencer reports. “Of course.”

Spencer looks up at the manhole cover, now about twelve feet above their heads. “There’s no way to unlock it from this side,” she notes. “Someone needs to take position here, make sure our exit route stays open.”

Caleb brandishes the metal rebar. “We’ll lay this over the opening,” he suggests. “If it can’t close, it can’t lock. Hanna, you -”

“I’m going to pretend the next words out of your mouth were going to be ‘go do what you need to do, I’ll stay here,’” Hanna tells him. “Because I need to go into this with people I trust. And right now, Caleb, that is not you.”

Spencer cuts off his protests with a final decision. “Caleb, stay here. Stay on the ladder. Shoot anything that comes at us from above ground.”

“Pick a partner,” she tells the others. “Search every room. One person inside and one person on the door to make sure it doesn’t close. Call out. Stay within the sound of each other’s voices.”

Spencer and Paige take the first room on the left, which has nothing but a chair, a towel, and a bucket of water.

Hanna and Aria take the first room on the right, which has a chair, speakers in the wall, and flashing lights.

Alison and Emily move further down, finding a room with a chair and a variety of sharp medical looking implements.

Each room they encounter is similar, like a haunted house of torture methods and devices. Spencer identifies one of them as Spanish, a brutal looking pair of tongs used to pull out human fingernails. Aria screams when she opens a trunk filled with a colony of spiders, backing quickly out of the room, Hanna slamming the door.

There’s no sign of any other person. No sign of Charlotte anywhere.

They reach the end of the hallway and come to a set of double doors, which Spencer props open with an unlit flare, allowing them all to walk into a plush carpeted study that overlooks, through a wall length window, an enormous maze on a level even further underground than the one they are on. There is a control panel with lights and switches, one of which Aria tentatively flips on. The maze comes to life, with moving metal spikes, visible shock fields, a chamber that looks like it might fill with water.

“What is this?” Aria whispers. “It looks like-”

“Like the kind of thing you would use on rats,” Spencer finishes. “Or, you know, dolls. If you’re a sadistic sociopath.”

“No,” Hanna says. “You’re looking at it wrong.” 

Emily turns around and sees Hanna pointing at the other walls, lined with bookshelves that are full to bursting with volumes upon volumes of notebooks. She grabs one at random and begins to flip through the pages.

They gather around her to look. There’s a picture of Hanna putting the museum gala tickets in Ella Montgomery’s staff mailbox. Another of Spencer in a black hoodie picking up Malcolm from school. Below them are copious notes and observations about subjects and negative stimuli and conditioning fear response. Hypothesis and dependent hypothesis, notes upon notes, registered with clinical detachment, as if they are already rats in the maze. As if they have been for years.

Emily catches sight of a thick notebook labeled Dollhouse ‘12. She reaches for it and lets it fall open to a chart that records every button they pressed to shock one another. 

“Oh my god,” Emily says, feeling the flesh on the back of her neck crawl. “This is everything - everything that’s ever happened to us.”

“All the text messages,” Aria says.

“All the almost dying,” Alison adds.

“It’s all tied together,” Hanna agrees.

“Like a hydra with infinite heads,” Spencer whispers. “Except it’s not mythology. It’s methodology! All of it! Everything! It’s an experiment!”


	34. A Doll's House

“This is why it never stopped,” Hanna says. “Every time we thought it was over.”

“There was always a puppet master,” Alison agrees. “Maybe more than one.”

“Definitely more than one,” Spencer says. “Different handwriting.” Alison looks at the page that Spencer is pointing at, the small letters, runs her finger over the loop of the letter ‘p’ in Spencer’s name.

“What is it?” Spencer asks. “Is this Charlotte’s handwriting?”

“This isn’t Charlotte,” Alison replies, a hard look on her face. “This is something else.” 

“Fuck this,” Hanna says, ripping out the pages of the nearest notebook. “Fuck them!”

“Hanna, no!” Spencer says, a hand on her elbow. “We need to gather as many of these as possible,” Spencer says gesturing towards the notebooks. “And then we need to get out of here.”

“Charlotte could still be down here,” Alison insists. “We can’t just leave her in this place.”

“Ten minutes,” Spencer snaps. “Check all the rooms you can. Split up and keep searching. Emily and I will hold here and go through as much of this as we can. See what we can find.”

Emily nods, and the others head off down different corridors leading out from the sides of the room.

“We need to try to find one for every version of the ‘A’ team,” Spencer says. “But some of these aren’t chronological as much as they are thematic.”

“And it’s not just us,” Emily tells her. “These,” she says, indicating a bottom row of notebooks, “are all about other girls. Mental patients, it looks like.”

“My god,” Spencer says, her disgust tinged with something that sounds disturbingly like a hint of admiration, “The scope of this is unbelievable. All the things you can achieve for the price of your conscience.”

Her reverie is interrupted by Paige’s wobbly voice calling to her from down the right hand hallway.

“Go,” Emily tells her. “I got this.”

Spencer hurries down the hall, her mind working overtime, clicking so many unrelated incidents into place that she’s having the mental equivalent of a runner’s high. Nothing, she thinks, is as scary as not having answers. Until she stops in the doorway of the room where Paige is standing.

Standing in front of a couch that looks exactly like their couch, behind the coffee table they built themselves after a late night on pinterest.

“I don’t understand,” Paige says. “This is….this is our apartment. She picks up a scarf from the coat rack. My mom knitted this for me. I thought I lost it on the train last winter. Spencer, what the fuck is this place?”

Spencer feels as if the whole room is spinning around her. She looks down and sees her clothes covered in blood, feels a current of pure terror flood through her body, the sensation of a nightmare so real that it wakes you screaming, only there is nothing to wake from. Everything here is real.

Paige’s face in front of her, pale and frightened, the weight of Paige’s hand on her shoulder, pull Spencer back to the present moment of crisis. Her eyes fix on the scarf, still in Paige’s hand, her own “I’m Ready for Hillary” button pinned to the bottom.

“Run!” Spencer says, shoving Paige ahead of her out of the room. “RUN!” she shouts, sprinting as fast as she can back towards the entrance. 

\----

Aria walks into a room that’s more of an apartment, with lavender walls and hardwood floors, covered by a beautiful bird patterned throw rug. It homey and chic, and then she spies the familiar vintage dress form in the corner. “Hanna!” she calls. “Hanna!” 

Hanna comes to the door. 

“Is this -” Aria starts.

Hanna takes one look at the interior of the room, then rushes forward and vomits into the replica of her own kitchen sink.

Aria stares at her, stares at a white bassinet half-assembled in front of the couch.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “Hanna, you have to get out of here! Run!”

She grabs her hand, and together they rush back towards the entrance.

\---- 

Alison is opening and closing doors at random. She finds herself in a child’s room that has hot pink walls covered with tacked up drawings of butterflies. She picks up a stuffed unicorn from the foot of the bed, runs a hand over the white fur of its mane. She inhales sharply, counts herself five seconds to look around, to take in the “How to Build Your Own Robot” kit on the desk, the glow in the dark stars affixed to the ceiling, the ballet flats peeking out from the dust ruffle under the bed. The last thing she sees before she turns and starts running are alphabet blocks on the fake windowsill, spelling out the name ESTELLA.

\-----

Emily hears Spencer’s shout, hears the rapidly approaching footsteps of the others, and grabs as many notebooks as she can carry. Everyone converges back in the maze observation room, Aria and Hanna almost colliding with Spencer and Paige, Alison appearing from the opposite direction moments later. All five of them burst out of the double doors, running flat out down the torture room hallway, toward where Caleb is waiting on the top of the ladder.

He hears their approach and turns his face towards them, hanging onto the ladder with one hand. He’s so focused on their approach, he never sees the figure in the black hoodie who appears above the entrance, who raises the muzzle of a gun and fires. 

Caleb’s eyes are fixed on Hanna, he doesn’t even realize anything is wrong until he feels the sharp pain slicing through his neck, until his hand goes nerveless and drops the shotgun. His body falls like dead weight off the ladder. The metal clang as a booted foot kicks away the rebar, the snap of the hinge closing, are the last sounds he hears before he hits the ground. 

Hanna’s scream is the worst sound Emily has ever heard, so piercing it could shatter glass or hearts or the entire world.

It can’t be more than thirty seconds until they reach Caleb’s prone body, but he’s already glassy eyed, his right arm bent underneath him at a sickening angle. Spencer climbs the ladder to see if there’s any way to open the manhole cover that she’s overlooked, as Paige kneels beside Caleb feeling desperately for a pulse.

Hanna is kneeling next to him too, her hand on his cheek, her face frozen in horror, tears streaming down her face.

“Oh god,” Hanna says, doubling over in pain. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”

“We’re locked in,” Spencer shouts. “Gas masks on! Ear plugs in!”

Emily is fastening her gas mask in place, when she sees the hooded figure at the end of the hallway, brandishing a weapon that looks like a grenade launcher.

“Everybody get down!” Emily shouts, dropping the notebooks and pulling out her Beretta.

“Noooooooooooooooooo,” Hanna cries out, in a way that signals fresh pain.

Caleb, Emily thinks. He must be dead. 

Emily fires off three rounds just as the hooded figure launches a cannister of tear gas at them. She thinks Spencer may have fired the tranquilizer gun from the top of the ladder as well, but she can’t be sure. Everything seems to be happening in an extremely fast version of slow motion. Hanna’s moans can be heard as the echo of the gunshots subside.

“Hanna, use your words!” Alison shouts. “Is it Caleb? Are you hurt?”

In the hiss and haze of the tear gas, locked underground with no way to escape, Hanna’s answer is audible just before the siren starts to blare. “It’s bad,” Hanna gasps, her voice more scared than Emily has ever heard it before. “I think I’m having contractions.”


	35. Say a Little Prayer

In the hiss and haze of the tear gas, locked underground with no way to escape, Hanna’s answer is audible just before the siren starts to blare. “It’s bad,” Hanna says, her voice more scared than Emily has ever heard it before. “I think I’m having contractions.”

Emily closes her eyes and says a prayer to anyone up there who might be listening. She prays for a miracle, an escape route, a way out of this that doesn’t involve bodybags.

When the siren goes off, Emily is sure no one is listening. The sound is louder than she remembers, even with earplugs, and she flashes for a moment to the vision of her own body on a morgue table, covered with a white sheet. 

And then Spencer climbs back down the ladder to stand beside her, in the here and now, picking up Caleb’s fallen shotgun to fire live rounds at whatever’s coming next. Emily risks a quick glance over her shoulder at Hanna and Caleb. Paige is shouting instructions at Aria, who is using her knife to cut strips of bandages. Emily looks for and doesn’t see any blood. Hanna is on her knees, breathing heavily and staring up at the locked exit like she’s willing it to open. Her right hand is pressed against Caleb’s chest, and in her left she’s clutching the broken heel of a shoe to her abdomen. She can’t help them, Emily thinks. The best thing she can do is try to cover them.

Emily catches sight of the hooded figure advancing through the bluish chemical haze, and fires again, Spencer and Alison both following her lead. The masked figure retreats as a dart whooshes past Emily’s left ear. 

“TRANQUILIZER DARTS!” Spencer shouts, to be heard over the ceaseless droning of the siren, pulling one out of the front of her kevlar vest. “WE HAVE AN ADVANTAGE! THEY WANT TO TAKE US ALIVE!”

There are a lot of other advantages Emily would rather have. An exit strategy. High ground. A less omniscient enemy. But she supposes Spencer is right, an edge is an edge. Still, she can’t help but imagine them being picked off, one by one, helpless on the ground. She has another flash of the morgue slab, but it doesn’t stop her from firing the moment she sees the barrel of the tranquilizer gun aiming from around the corner.

A single dart flies by and clangs off the ladder.

Spencer fires the shotgun and blows off a chunk of the wall where the rifle was poking out from.

How long, Emily wonders, can they possibly hold out? Ten minutes? Half an hour? An hour? 

Another volley of darts fly towards them, two of them connecting with Emily’s vest. Alison, who isn’t wearing a vest at all, is positioned behind her. She leans forward, her eyes wide and a little wild looking, and shouts to Emily, “I WILL SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD BEFORE I LET THEM TAKE YOU ALIVE.”

Emily is sure she’s not kidding, but not entirely sure she finds that comforting. 

“THAT’S NICE,” Spencer shouts. “WHEN WE GET OUT OF HERE, I’M GOING TO GET THAT ON A THROW PILLOW.” 

Emily feels herself smiling a little under her gas mask. A Hastings never admits defeat. She tries to think of all the gear they brought, racking her brain for anything that might save them now, but the siren makes it hard to think, hard to feel anything but crazed with fear. The kind of fear that’s making the back of her neck go cold.

Except, Emily realizes, it’s not fear on the back of her neck. It’s air. Cold air.

She looks up just in time to see that the hinged manhole cover, impossible as it seems, is somehow open again. 

Hanna is already scrambling to her feet, pointing upwards. 

There’s another exchange of darts and bullets, during which a dart skitters off the tip of one of Aria’s boots. Too close.

Emily moves a few steps forward, signals for Alison and Spencer to follow. She hopes firing from closer range will drive their tormentor back, or at least give the others time to get out. It’s almost impossible to see clearly with the gas still lingering in the air. How long has it been since the canister was launched, Emily wonders. Thirty seconds? Five minutes? Ten?

Long enough, it seems, for Aria and Paige to have rigged up something with the bandages, something that straps Caleb’s kevlar vest to the one Paige is wearing. It’s like a mountaineering rescue, his limp body tied in this makeshift sling on her back. 

Paige McCullers has been an athlete all her life. Hopped up on pure panic and full bore adrenaline, she could probably lift a car right now. 

All the time they dated in high school, and Emily has never loved Paige more than she does in this moment, watching her power up a twelve foot ladder with the lanky frame of Caleb Rivers strapped to her back. Emily notices his broken arm is in a splint and feels a surge of hope.

“Cover her!” Emily shouts, as they open fire to keep the hooded shooter pinned down. 

And then Paige and Caleb are out, and Aria is propelling Hanna up the ladder, Hanna looking sweaty and pained, but determined.

Emily motions for Spencer and Ali to retreat, though they keep firing sporadically until they reach the base of the ladder. She nods at Alison, who has no protective gear, and then shoots aggressively into a new hail of tranquilizer darts as Alison ascends. 

It’s down to her and Spencer now. But Spencer, instead of starting up the ladder, is feeling around for something on the ground. A dart lands between her fingers, a millimeter away from the flesh of her hand, as she finds one of the notebooks that Emily dropped. 

For a brief moment, the hail of darts stops. Spencer starts up the ladder as Emily shoots into the smoke. She sees their assailant running towards them, as if he means to give up the gun fight and tackle them, take them by force. Emily shoots him in the kneecap, dropping him to the ground. She steps forward, not sure whether she intends to remove his gas mask or shoot him in the head. Maybe both. 

Then he rolls over and pulls a pistol out of his pant leg to fire at Emily, hitting her three times squarely in the chest. Her vest takes the bullets, but the force of the impact knocks her backwards off her feet. She hits her head against the wall so hard that her vision blurs. She’s down here alone, and whoever is under that hood is army crawling in her direction. Then she hears a shot from above, sees a chunk of the floor explode inches from the hooded figure’s head. 

Spencer Hastings is laying on her stomach at the edge of the manhole, firing down into the corridor to buy Emily time. She staggers to her feet, ears ringing, and looks up at the ladder. She grabs a rung and tries to climb, but she’s dizzy and disoriented and the siren is making her feel sick. Spencer fires off two more rounds, and it at least looks like the enemy is retreating. 

And then Ali is climbing back down in nothing but her club wear, trusting Spencer to keep them safe, wrapping an arm around Emily’s waist to steady her as she half pulls, half drags her up to safety. 

The brisk autumn air hits Emily’s face as they make it to the top and scramble onto the solid floor of the Campbell barn’s basement. Spencer slams the metal cover down and twirls the locking mechanism. 

It’s a miracle, Emily thinks woozily. They’re saved. She hears a familiar voice barking into a crackling radio, “The Liars are secure. Repeat, the Liars are secure.” 

There is a God, Emily realizes. And she looks exactly like Mona Vanderwaal, AK-47 assault rifle in one hand and an Orange Julius smoothie in the other.


	36. Apples to Apples, Dust to Dust

Mona is driving at breakneck speed away from the Campbell barn. Emily can make out the tail lights of the van a few miles ahead on the winding road, and although Paige must be going at least 90 miles an hour, Mona has the speedometer in Spencer’s SUV tilting past 120 and seems determined to catch her before they reach the hospital.

“Em, look at me,” Alison says. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two.”

“What year is it?”

“2017”

“Who’s president?”

“Spencer -”

“Woah,” Mona says, not taking her eyes off the road. “Do you think she got like, psychic powers with that concussion? Because I have the BEST gown for an Inauguration. Sleek, formal, navy blue with a slit up to here.” She actually takes one hand off the wheel to gesture almost all the way up her thigh.

“Mona, you can have your pick of cabinet posts, okay? But we have to live long enough to get to the hospital,” Spencer promises, white-knuckled in the passenger seat.

“We’re all making it to the hospital,” Mona says, pushing the accelerator even further towards the floor. “Hanna should wear something sparkly and silver, a little low cut, but classy, you know?”

Emily tries again. “Spencer - did you get the notebook?”

“I did,” Spencer says, brandishing a single notebook that still has a tranquilizer dart poking out of the cover. “We can take it straight to the police, as soon as we make sure Hanna and Caleb are going to be okay.”

“Hanna is going to be fine,” Mona says, in a voice of absolute authority. “And the scruffy hubby too, as long as the broken ribs didn’t puncture a lung,” she adds, sounding markedly less concerned, more like she’s discussing the weather.

Within minutes, they’re squealing to a stop six inches behind Paige at the entrance to the emergency room at Rosewood Community Hospital, in time to see Aria running inside for help and stretchers.

\------

The blur of motion that started the moment they arrived at the hospital finally seems to be slowing down to a manageable whirl. Caleb is still immobilized, but the staff is putting a rush on his tox screen while they study his X-rays. Hanna has been given an IV and wheeled off to a private room, and Spencer and Alison’s combined insistence has sent Emily down to radiology for a CAT scan.

The four others sit in uncomfortable chairs in the hallway outside of Hanna’s room, waiting for nurses to finish checking her over. 

Aria’s right sleeve is missing, cut off for use in the emergency splint after they ran out of bandages, and her hair is in complete disarray. She looks like a street urchin, or a refugee from an 80’s music video. 

Spencer is tapping her foot impatiently, her kevlar vest propped against the side of her chair, four empty styrofoam coffee cups on the table next to her. She has the salvaged notebook, which turns out to be Dollhouse ‘12, open in front of her, and she turns the pages intently with one hand while unconsciously shredding the styrofoam of her fifth cup of of coffee with her fingernails. 

Alison appears the most composed, but the look on her face isn’t relaxed or relieved, it’s intense and calculating, an adult version of how she used to look at the high school lunch table, right before announcing a new campaign to take an enemy down. 

Paige looks pasty, a sheen of cold sweat standing out on her forehead, her hands and arms shaking against the wooden armrests of the chair. She clasps her hands tightly between her knees, some ingrained muscle memory warning her against letting Alison DiLaurentis, cool and calm in the chair next to her, see her weak and trembling.

A nurse comes out of Hanna’s room, smiling. “You can go in now,” she tells them. “Two at a time, please.” Spencer and Aria jump to their feet. 

“Spence, can I see that?” Alison asks, gesturing to the notebook clutched to Spencer’s chest.

Spencer hands it to her, growls, “Guard it with your life,” over her shoulder as she hurries into Hanna’s room.

Alison plucks the tranquilizer dart out of the cover and flips through the pages carefully.

When Emily turns the corner a few minutes later, mild concussion diagnosis and painkiller prescription in her pocket, she thinks she must have hit her head even harder than she thought.

Alison DiLaurentis is holding Paige McCullers’ hand.

\-------- 

Inside Hanna’s room, Spencer and Aria are watching Hanna devour a bowl of green hospital jello.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us!” Spencer says, accusingly. “I never would have let you -”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Hanna replies. “It was bad enough in New York, Caleb was putting pillows under my feet and offering me warm milk until I wanted to scream.”

“How far along are you?” Aria asks. “I mean, I had a moment when we were shopping where I thought maybe you looked a little bloated, but you had just downed that whole cherry slushy!”

“Thirteen weeks,” Hanna says. “Thank god I used to be fat, right? I could teach a class in how to dress to disguise your baby bump.”

“But you’re okay?” Spencer asks. “The baby isn’t coming early?”

“Stupid Braxton-Hicks contractions,” Hanna grumbles. “I guess you usually don’t feel them this early, but it turns out I was dehydrated, and had high blood pressure or something. The doctor asked me if I’d been,” she pauses to make air quotes, “experiencing higher than usual amounts of stress.”

“What did you tell him?” Spencer asks.

“That I had some high pressure deadlines at work,” Hanna says, “that one of my coworkers is an indoor whistler, and that I just watched my husband fall off a 12 foot ladder while he was cleaning the gutters.”

“Indoor whistler?” Aria says, confused.

“I don’t know,” Hanna shrugs. “What do regular people get stressed about?” 

“I have no idea,” Spencer answers. “Have you heard anything about Caleb?”

“Mona texted me,” Hanna replies, passing them her phone.

>Beautiful hobo ok. Coming out of tranq fugue. Nds surgery on arm. Kisses! XOXOXOXOXO 

“She totally saved our asses down there,” Aria admits.

“Our asses and our lives,” Spencer agrees. “Has she been following us around this whole time?”

“No,” Hanna explains with a shake of her head. “I signaled her with my shoe. Those heels were Vanderwaal originals, with an Emergency Rescue Request button built in.”

“Do you think we could all get some of those?” Aria asks, curious.

“Make your own friends,” Hanna grins, slurping a carton of chocolate milk through a straw. “Mona is mine.”

\--------

Spencer feels a complicated jolt guilt and anxiety when she walks out of Hanna’s room to see Emily with a comforting arm around Paige’s shoulders, Alison handing her a cup of water.

“Good news,” she says, pulling Paige to her feet. “It’s time to try this your way.”

\--------

Detective Tanner is in the middle of eating a chicken salad sandwich when Spencer and Paige burst into her office. Spencer sees her fight down the urge to reach for her sidearm, probably worried it might be a hostage situation.

Paige thumps the notebook onto Tanner’s desk. “We have evidence,” she announces. “Whoever was behind the Dollhouse is still out there. The Dollhouse is still down there, still active!”

“Charlotte DiLaurentis was behind the Dollhouse,” Tanner replies. “She made a full confession. I know you left town, Ms. McCullers, but surely you got that memo.”

“This is something else,” Paige tells her, excitedly. “Something bigger. This notebook, it’s evidence. We think it’s Wren Kingston - he’s not really British - and it’s all an experiment! We went down there, and our coffee table - and my scarf - and someone’s been watching us and planning and then they tried to kidnap us, and Caleb got hurt -”

“Caleb Rivers?” Tanner asks. “Who broke his arm this morning after falling off a ladder while he was cleaning gutters, unaware that a new medication he was on might cause him to suffer from vertigo? I keep up, you know, ladies.”

“He’s lying,” Paige protests. “Because they wouldn’t believe him if he said he took a tranquilizer dart to the neck and fell off a ladder while guarding the entrance to an underground bunker where mad scientists prey on young girls!”

“Imagine,” Tanner replies sarcastically. “Someone finding such a story hard to believe.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Spencer insists. “We brought proof.” 

Tanner picks up the notebook and flips through it idly. “I heard Ezra Fitz was writing a new book. Is that what this is? An advance copy? Did he give it to you in Philadelphia the other night?”

“This isn’t book club,” Spencer protests. “This is true crime.”

“True crime,” Tanner snorts, pulling a copy of “Pretty Little Liars,” extensively marked with different colored post it notes, from her desk drawer. “Did you know that in this book, Harper Rashly manages to lie to the police 112 times in 304 pages?”

“I never counted,” Spencer retorts. “But this isn’t a book. We found plans for the Dollhouse, and a model. The structure was much larger than the area we were held in the first time. The plans were in a box addressed to Wren Kingston.”

“And how did you get this box?” Tanner asks. 

“Shana Fring left it in a locker -” Paige starts to explain, but Tanner cuts her off.

“Shana Fring?” Tanner repeats in disbelief. She brandishes the book at them like a weapon. “Or should we call her Shonda Frank? The young woman who Melody kills by knocking her into the orchestra pit of the Hemingway Theater? An act that leaves her haunted and consumed by grief for the rest of this farce of a novel, but never enough to bring her to the police station to confess? To give that poor grandmother some closure? Don’t you dare mention Shana Fring to me!”

“Did you miss the part where she was holding everyone hostage at gunpoint?” Spencer snaps. 

“That’s all in the past,” Paige insists, “but it’s connected to what’s going on now, too. Someone keeps manipulating people to go after them! Mona! Shana! Charlotte! It’s all some kind of experiment about fear response or conditioning or psychosis or something!” Somewhere in the middle of this speech, it occurs to Paige how ridiculous their story sounds. 

Paige bangs both hands down hard on Tanner’s desk. “This is real!” she shouts. “Why aren’t you listening?”

“The entrance we found today was in the basement of the old Campbell barn,” Spencer offers. “Which you know was one of the places Charlotte used as her base of operations. Whoever cleared that room last time missed it.”

Tanner gets a hard look on her face, sits up and looks like she might be taking them more seriously. “Walk me through this again,” she says, and Paige sighs with relief, thinking they’ve won.

\--------

It takes at least another two hours, but finally Tanner motions to a few uniformed officers to follow as she drives back out to the Campbell farm with Spencer and Paige in the back of her cruiser.

Spencer knows it’s going to be bad the moment they park in the field. The field that is now criss-crossed with dozens of tire treads that weren’t there when they fled the scene hours ago. 

The next sign of trouble is the absent manhole cover. The fake section of wall is still up, so it looks mostly like a closet leading to an underground storage area. 

Tanner climbs down the ladder. No lights spring on. She shines her flashlight beam in a wide arc. Everywhere a door had been has been bricked up and plastered over. The entrance to the maze observation rooms, all the journal, has also been sealed off. The hallway appears to dead end well before it reaches that point, the room that could prove they aren’t lying.

If Spencer hadn’t been fighting for her life in this exact spot this morning, she would swear it looks like an abandoned utility tunnel, too.

The plaster is shiny and still wet, but that hardly matters to Tanner. She’s staring at the floor, which is covered with hundreds, if not thousands, of loose apples.


	37. Feint of Heart

“She didn’t arrest us,” Spencer points out when they’re back in Paige’s truck. “That automatically makes it one of our friendlier encounters with Tanner.”

Paige doesn’t respond. She sits in the passenger seat, silently staring out the window. The look on her face isn’t even shocked or frightened anymore, it’s terrifyingly blank.

\------  
 _  
It was December 31, 2014 and Spencer was wearing a floor length red dress as she suffered through a waltz with Conrad Wiltshire at the club’s annual gala. She should have gone to Hanna’s party in New York, she thought. A huge bash in her tiny apartment, orchestrated entirely to introduce Emily to a leggy Swiss model. Emily, of course, was the reason Spencer backed out. She thought about Paige McCullers, sweaty and grinning in her Stanford field hockey uniform, then shut the thought down._

_The moment the waltz ended, Spencer grabbed her purse and offered Conrad a muttered excuse about the restroom to get away from him._

_She checked her phone and groaned when she realized it was only 9:30. She saw a text from Hanna._

_> No go. Em says Anja is too tall. What does that even mean?!?_

_Spencer was on the verge of texting back, when her phone vibrated with an incoming call. McCullers. She didn’t answer, just watched the phone pulse in her hand. She waited a moment, then checked her voicemail. No message. Not that she wanted there to be. If she couldn’t make it work with Toby, she couldn’t make it work with anyone. Dating was a waste of time._

_The phone vibrated again. This time, Spencer answered._

_“Hey,” Paige said. “What are you doing tonight?”_

_“I’m at a party at the club. Happy Almost New Year.”_

_“Any chance you might want to not be?”_

_Spencer felt her stomach drop when she realized how much she wanted to say yes to whatever offer Paige was making. The pause in their conversation lengthened._

_“Come on,” Paige said. “I have a Grande, Quad, Non-fat, One Pump, No Whip Mocha that might kill me if I try to drink it. Isn’t that better than champagne that came over on the Mayflower? I can be there in ten minutes.”_

_“Make it five,” Spencer told her. “I don’t want the coffee to get cold.”_

_Sixteen hours later, only two of which they spent asleep, Spencer’s red dress was looking a little rumpled as she kissed Paige senseless just outside of the security line at the Philadelphia airport._

_“Change your flight,” Spencer said, her mouth against Paige’s earlobe. “I’ll make it worth your while.”_

_“I have to be in the pool at six tomorrow,” Paige said, regretfully._

_Then this was it, Spencer thought. Dating was impossible. Dating her best friend’s ex-girlfriend who lived 3,000 miles away would be completely insane. Wanting things is fine, she told herself firmly. Needing them is what makes you weak._

_“You could come out for Spring Break, maybe,” Paige suggested. Spencer felt her heart twist into a complicated knot in her chest. She stood there, watched as Paige went through the TSA screening, as she turned and waved before she looked at her watch and started hurrying towards her gate._

_Spencer had no idea what she was doing, but the thought came into her head fully formed, a half-remembered flash of an old dream. She couldn’t stand to watch Paige McCullers walk away from her._  
  
\---------

Spencer was tempted to drive them straight back to the hospital, but she wound up parking in front of Aria’s house instead. Paige still hadn’t said a word. Not when they got out of the car. Not when Spencer unlocked the door. Not when they sat down next to each other on the couch. Spencer reaches over and put a hand tentatively on her knee.

“I know,” she says quietly. “I know it’s a lot.”

“A lot?” Paige says in disbelief. “Is this what it’s like to be you? Because, Spencer, I feel crazy! I feel like there’s a hole in my head and my brain is seeping out.”

“I can’t talk about this right now,” Spencer says, getting up and grabbing a box of Ezra’s files at random.

“Too bad!” Paige says. “Someone is out there building a fake version of our apartment underground! And then walling it off hours later - how is that even possible? This is not a moment when conversation is optional!”

Spencer pulls the lid off the box, not meeting Paige’s eyes. “I can’t talk about this right now,” she repeats, “I don’t want to hear what you have to say, alright? I know how it ends. Go, Paige. Leave, if you’re leaving.”

Spencer stares hard at a sheaf of photos, then glances at the side of the box. 61B. Of course. 

“Is that what you want?” Paige asks, her voice panicky, and Spencer thinks, maybe a little relieved.

Spencer flips through the stack of pictures. Her dad on the courthouse steps. Her mother in Philadelphia, standing outside of La Scala. Her mother going into a doctor’s office. Her father going into La Scala. Perfect, she thinks. Her girlfriend is going to leave her, and all Ezra Fitz knows is that her parents have a thing for chicken parm.

“Of course I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer says, but it sounds more automatic than heartfelt.

She stares at a picture of Melissa sitting on a park bench reading Rushdie. ‘Masks beneath masks,’ she quotes to herself. ‘Until suddenly the bare bloodless skull.’ The next picture is the book, left behind on the bench. The third is Mike Montgomery in a black hoodie, picking it up. A drop, she thinks. The Melissa pictures are dated on the back: November, 2011.

“Look at me,” Paige says, grabbing the file from Spencer. Some papers spill out from beneath the photos. Surgical records for Veronica Hastings. “Are you trying to protect me right now? Make me so mad that I storm out and leave you here?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Spencer asks, raising her voice. “Being with me means that there’s a place for you in the Dollhouse! That someone is watching you on the train and stealing your scarf! If I love you, I shouldn’t want you to stay! But when I think about you leaving, it hurts so much I can’t breathe!”

“You’re the only one who’s talking about me leaving!” Paige counters, raising her voice, too. 

“What do you want me to say?” Spencer asks wildly. “That I need you? That thinking about losing you makes me feel like someone is harvesting my organs with no anesthesia? Because I do! And it does! My friends - I love them, they’re like my family - but you, Paige, you’re my future!”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be scared!” Paige says. “I love you, Spencer. I love you more than anything! But what you’re up against here, it’s deep and it’s dark and it’s fucking terrifying!”

“Then leave!” Spencer says, fighting back angry tears. “Leave like you left before!” She grabs the file out of Paige’s hand and throws it against the wall. Papers and photos fly everywhere, like they’re in a snow globe scene of a couple fighting. Shake once to break up, shake twice to stay together. Spencer watches as the last one drifts slowly through the air to land at her feet. 

It’s a photo of Wren Kingston, in bed with her mother.


	38. Eyes Wide Shut

Jason DiLaurentis is eating a grilled cheese sandwich as he sits across from Aria at a table in the hospital cafeteria. 

“Sorry about this,” Aria tells him, stirring her bowl of tomato soup. “In my head, I imagined we’d be eating somewhere that didn’t smell like industrial bathroom cleaner.” She’s cleaned herself up for their date by ripping the other sleeve off of her dress and repurposing it as an odd looking hair bow. The kind of thing Minnie Mouse might wear, if she were in a movie animated by Tim Burton.

“No,” Jason assures her. “It’s perfect. If I have a date with the girl who used to have pink hair, I might as well take her somewhere with green jello on the menu.”

Aria flashes him a smile that more than makes up for their surroundings. 

“I wanted to look you up again,” he continues. “Like on facebook or something. Just, you know, if our whole lives were different and we were the kind of people who had facebook.”

“If things were different, they wouldn’t be the same,” Aria remarks. She tries to channel Alison, giving him her best head tilt / hair twirl combination. “Now,” she says, “What can you tell me about the N.A.T. club?”

\-------

Alison’s voice is audible as Spencer walks down the hall to Hanna’s room. “He’s still pretty out of it,” she’s saying. “He thinks he’s Justin Bieber.” There’s a pause, followed by a burst of laughter that makes a lump rise in Spencer’s throat. She takes a deep breath and raps her knuckles on the door.

Emily is playing a video on her phone of a groggy Caleb singing an off-key version of “Sorry” in his hospital gown. He seems to be forgetting most of the words, and frequently interrupts himself to mutter about other things. “Pen tacks,” he says, followed by something that sounds like “pencil racks,” before letting out all the stops for the chorus.

The best Spencer can manage is a weak smile.

“Are you okay, Spence?” Emily asks, all concern. 

Seeing the way she’s holding Alison’s hand makes Spencer feel like there are metal bands squeezing all the air out of her chest. “I’m fine,” she lies. “It was a no go with Tanner.”

A nurse comes in to check Hanna’s vitals. “Two visitors at a time,” she reminds them.

Alison stands up to go. “I need to pick up a few things from my house. I’ll be back later.”

Emily looks at her, surprised. “No solo missions,” she says, standing as well. “Let me come with you.”

Spencer watches Ali bump a hip against Em as they walk out the door together. She waits until the nurse has finished checking Hanna’s IV and bustled out of the room as well.

“What’s going on?” Hanna asks her. “And don’t tell me it’s Tanner--you look rougher than you did in your mug shot.” 

Spencer curls herself into a chair next the bed. “Paige left,” she says, putting her head down on Hanna’s lap and sobbing.

\------

“I don’t like this, Ali,” Emily says, as Alison parks in front of the DiLaurentis house. “Whatever you need from in there, we can get it later. When he’s not here.”

“Five minutes,” Alison says. “Ten minutes, tops.” She types something into her phone, then turns to face Emily.

Emily’s misgivings double when she sees Alison’s face in the glow of the street light. She’s spent so much time since their the break up replaying every little moment of their relationship, scouring her memory for clues about Alison’s feelings, rehashing every word, every moment. It’s amazing what you can see in hindsight. All the times she watched Alison sleep, she never used to notice what it looked like when she would wake up and slip a mask into place. But she recognizes it now, and it sends a bolt of fear down her spine.

“Alison,” she says using the toughest voice she can muster. “You need to tell me exactly what’s going on. Is this about the Dollhouse? Did you see something down there?”

“I saw you almost get killed,” Alison replies. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Emily tells her. “No, this feels like something else. Don’t lie to me, Alison.” She thinks she sees the mask slip, just for a few seconds. She wishes it were made of plaster, like all those ones in the woods. Wishes she could reach behind Ali’s ear and untie the ribbon, that it could be that easy.

“There was a room there,” Alison tells her. “For Estella. Whoever is behind this, they’re planning to take her.”

“Wren knows?” Emily says, aghast. “How?”

“I’m not sure it’s Wren,” Alison admits. “Em, I need to go in there. I need to see if my husband has a bullet in his kneecap.”

\-------

Jason is staring hard at his plate, not meeting Aria’s eyes. “I never wanted to get into this with you, Aria. But it’s part of being an addict, I guess. You’re never done making amends.”

“It all started with Ian,” he says. “He was so crazy about Melissa Hastings, but her family - well, you know how they are. The guy was on track to become a third-rate gym teacher. Peter and Veronica - they kept trying to set her up with all these hedge fund managers and trust fund kids from the club. He was always looking for a side hustle to make extra money.”

“And then,” he continues, his face dark red with embarrassment, “one night we were hanging out, and I was super high, and I went down to the kitchen for a snack. And you and Ali were sacked out on the couch sound asleep. I was so stoned, I spent like five minutes just staring at your ear. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And, I dunno, I wanted to take a picture of it. I went back upstairs and got Ian’s camera, and when he saw what I was doing, his whole face just lit up.”

Aria runs a hand over her ear, trying to decide if she’s more creeped out or flattered.

“The next thing I knew, he was recruiting other guys to help him film girls in their bedrooms and acting like it was all for fun. I should have told someone. I mean, I knew it was wrong, but he kept talking up how we started the stupid club together.”

“That summer before Ali went missing, all of a sudden Ian was flashing around giant wads of cash. I heard he and some other guys were paying girls to set up their friends. But I didn’t know how fucked up it all was until he came by with the dvds.”

“Dvds?” Aria repeats, startled. “Not just computer files?”

“Dvds.” Jason says. “I don’t know if he edited them himself, or if someone helped him, but they looked pretty professional. He might have just been selling the footage, I guess. But the videos made the whole thing look so much worse - or, I guess it was always that bad, but something about seeing them like that - they were being packaged as porn. Underage girls.”

Aria stares at Jason, appalled. “Who was packaging them? Who was he working with?” Please, she thinks, please say Wren and not Ezra. 

“I’m not sure who he was working for,” Jason replies. “I only know some of the guys who helped him.”

“Guys like Garrett Reynolds?” Aria asks.

“Him,” Jason nods. “And Eric Kahn.”

\--------

The moment Emily gets out of the car to follow Alison into the house, police flashers light up the street behind her. She and Ali both turn towards the burly figure of Barry Maple, out of his cruiser and shining a high beam flashlight in Emily’s face.

“Miss Fields,” he says gruffly. “You are two steps away from violating an order of protection. I suggest you step back.”

“It’s her house,” Emily says, helplessly, pointing at Alison.

“But as long as Dr. Joseph Rollins is inside, I’m afraid you can’t be,” he explains. He looks at her and shakes his head. “Your mom’s a nice lady, Emily. Makes a mean peanut butter cookie. I’d rather not arrest you, but if you go in there, you’re not giving me much choice.”

“If I promise to stay here,” Emily says, “can you go in there with Alison?”

“And leave you out here to sneak in a window the second my back is turned? This isn’t a negotiation, ladies.”

“I’ll be fine, Em,” Alison assures her. She pulls her into a tight hug. “Charlotte is still missing and someone’s preparing new rooms in the Dollhouse. We don’t have time to stand here arguing with him,” she whispers. Then she kisses Emily, hard. 

“You always close you eyes,” Alison says afterward. “I love that about you.” She trails her hand all the way down Emily’s arm as she walks away, but she doesn’t turn back.

She knows if she lets it, Emily’s love could take her over, light her up from the inside, make her feel like she’s nothing but a glowing ball of happiness. She can’t let it, she thinks. She can not afford to be weak right now. 

\------

“Eric Kahn?” Aria repeats. “Noel’s brother?”

“Remember all those parties at their cabin? The whole place was wired up,” Jason says. “All the bedrooms, the corners, the closets. Probably even the bushes outside. And Eric’s parties could get wild. He made sure of that. Some guys who went up there were in on it, some of the girls, too. Not everyone, though. I didn’t know until I saw the dvds. A lot of the - what was on there - had the cabin in the background.”

“You don’t still have these dvds, do you?” Aria asks.

“Why?” Jason asks, startled. “Trust me, you do NOT want to see them.”

“I really, really don’t,” Aria agrees. “But I guarantee you, Spencer will.”

\--------

Alison throws open in the front door of her house. Joseph Rollins is standing in the kitchen, slicing an onion on the cutting board. 

“Darling,” he says without turning around. “You’re home at last.”

Alison stalks over to him without preamble, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder so she can see his face.

“Who are you?” she demands.

Rollins doesn’t answer. He smirks.

“I mean it,” Alison says. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your husband, darling,” he says, sounding almost amused. 

“Why did you come here? Why did you pick me?”

There’s a noise like breaking glass outside. 

“What was that?” Rollins asks.

\----------

“What was that?” Emily asks Barry Maple. 

“Nothing to worry about,” he answers. “Probably someone taking out their recycling. Or a cat.”

“How long have you worked in Rosewood?” Emily asks him, crossing her arms over her chest, straining to see if she can catch a glimpse of anything through the curtains. 

She texts Ali a quick message to see if everything is okay. She waits thirty seconds. A minute. No answer.

\-------------

“I hid them under the floorboards in the northwest corner of the tool shed,” Jason says, driving Aria and a still ragged looking Spencer towards the DiLaurentis house. “I don’t know if they’re still there or not.”

He parks behind a police car with its flashers on. Emily Fields is at the car door before he even gets it open all the way.

“Please, Alison is in there,” she says, point towards the house. “Rollins might be dangerous and she’s not answering her phone.”

“Go,” Spencer tells him. “I’ll hit the tool shed.”

\---------

Spencer hears Jason and Aria pounding on the front door as she shines her flashlight on the floorboards of the shed. It takes her thirty seconds to pry up the loose one. There are three dvds, with lurid X-rated covers. She sees a familiar design on the sleeve, a logo an eye inside of a circle. Underneath it are the words, “Carissimi Entertainment.”

Then she hears Aria scream.

\-----------

Spencer runs toward the back of the house.

Barry Maple runs toward the front, too panicked to stop Emily who is half a step behind him.

A hooded figure watches from behind a tree.

\-----------

The first thing Spencer sees is Dr. Joseph Rollins sprawled on the kitchen floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. He’s moaning and clutching the hilt of a knife that’s protruding from his ribs.

\----------

The first thing Emily sees, over Maple’s burly uniformed shoulder, is Alison’s limp body draped across the sofa. Her eyes are closed, and a half empty bottle of sleeping pills is clutched in her hand.

Emily hears another scream. It takes her a moment to recognize it as her own.

\----------

Jason and Aria are standing in the middle of the living room, Aria already on the line with 9-1-1 as Maple radios for multiple ambulances. Jason looks stricken at the sight of Alison lying there, he sees Barry Maple checking for a pulse and then suddenly he’s in motion. 

Before Aria can say a word, before she can do anything at all to stop him, Jason is out of the house and sprinting across the yard to the Hastings. He’s shouting like a wild man, calling out at the top of his lungs, “Dr. Kingston! Help! Help! Dr. Kingston!”


	39. Gone Girl

Wren Kingston bursts into the room with a black medical bag faster than seems humanly possible, Melissa and Jason hard on his heels.

Wren kneels beside Rollins, examining his wound, his face full of shock and alarm. “Bloody hell” he says. “What happened?”

“Crazy bitch,” Rollins wheezes, raising a hand to point towards Alison on the couch.

“Alison?” Wren asks in disbelief. “Alison did this to you, Joseph?”

There’s something about the way he says Joseph’s name, something in the ‘o’ that sounds oddly flat and midwestern. Emily is so crazed with worry over Alison that she wouldn’t have noticed at all, except for the sharp look Melissa shoots him while his back is turned.

Melissa herself steps over Rollins without sparing him a glance, following Jason over to the sofa where Alison’s body is sprawled. She shoves Emily, Maple, and Spencer out of the way like so many bowling pins and studies the label on the bottle of pills. “How long since you found her?” she snaps, and her command voice is so much like Spencer’s that Emily almost feels comforted.

“Three minutes?” Jason answers. “Maybe four?”

Melissa wraps an arm behind Alison’s back, forcing her into a sitting position. “I hope you still have a gag reflex, you little bitch,” she mutters, shoving her fingers roughly down Alison’s throat.

\------------- 

Barry Maple takes one of Alison’s limp wrists and handcuffs it to the stretcher as the paramedics lift her and rush towards one of the waiting ambulances.

Emily is frozen in place, staring at the couch. There on the cushions, previously concealed under Alison’s hand that wasn’t clutching the pill bottle, are two delicate silver rings streaked with turquoise. 

She picks them up. She doesn’t notice the tiny plume of the tranquilizer dart peeking out from between the cushions.

\--------

Jason is pounding his fists on the patient information desk. “Where is my sister?” he shouts. “Why can’t anyone tell me anything?”

A harried nurse gives him an icy glare. “We don’t have an Alison DiLaurentis here,” she tells him. 

“Rollins!” he says, slamming his hand down again. “Mrs. Alison Rollins.”

The nurse’s face changes. “Room 305,” she tells him. “She’s on a psychiatric hold.”

\---------

Emily, Aria, and Spencer pile out of the elevator and race down the third floor corridor after Jason.

There’s a policeman asleep in a chair outside the door to room 305.

A pair of handcuffs dangle from the bed rail.

The bed is empty. 

Alison is gone.

\------

Alison’s eyes are wide open, although her arms are confined in a straitjacket. She’s being wheeled into a padded room with a steel door.

“There now,” Wren Kingston says with no trace of an accent. “I think you’ll find yourself quite comfortable here.”


	40. Dancing on the Stage of Memories

Alison hears the bolt of the steel door slide home. Wren was locking her in. She was still immobilized, unable to even move her head to look around. She has a flash of memory:

_The memory of Beach Hottie’s eyes as he was choking her made Alison shiver in front of the mirror. It had been hours now, since he tossed her body into the water as casually as a normal person might throw an empty bottle into the trash._

_The tattered remains of her clothes were still damp and salt crusted on the floor of the guest bungalow where Cece was sleeping this summer. She was wrapped in an old quilt, thinking about whether she should risk sneaking back into her room, whether her parents might be up late having another of their closed door bedroom fights._

_Cece came in with a stack of dry clothes, and started holding them up in front of Alison in an appraising way, as if they were shopping at the mall, deciding what was hot enough for the hottest girls in town._

_“Try this,” Cece said, pulling a hot pink camisole over Alison’s head._

_Alison had been trying hard to get herself under control, but she was exhausted from the ebb tide of her adrenaline, her body weary from the long swim, her mind in a fog about what exactly had just happened._

_Cece shook her head, and Alison let herself be helped back out of the camisole. Ali watched Cece deliberate for a moment, before choosing a soft blue flannel shirt which she buttoned Alison into. It felt warm and soothing, and it was apparently good enough for whatever late night crisis fashion show Cece was putting on here._

_“What happened?” Cece asked gently. She’d been so great, rushing out to pick her up off the beach, hustling her into the car, and driving back with no questions asked. “Did you get into a fight with the Beach Hottie?”_

_Alison didn’t trust that her voice wouldn’t shake, so she nodded instead._

_Cece motioned for her to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I know what it’s like,” she said, picking up a hairbrush from the dresser. “Someone loves you one minute, and then suddenly they act like you don’t exist.”_

_Alison couldn’t imagine any guy ignoring Cece, ever. Even Jason--who spent most of his time either drunk off his ass or so baked he could barely string two words together--always sat up a little straighter whenever she walked into the room, made it a point to shave his scruffy little wannabe beard if Cece refused to kiss him on account of the stubble._

_Cece ran the brush through Alison’s damp hair. She smirked as if she could read Alison’s mind. “Yeah, well,” she said with a wink. “I didn’t always look like this.”_

_She continued to brush Alison’s hair in silence. Alison thought she might be counting a hundred strokes, like Melissa used to do with Spencer when they were little._

_She felt her eyelids starting to droop. “You can crash here tonight,” Cece offered, plumping a pillow behind Alison’s head as she leaned backwards. She pulled the quilt over Alison, who was still shaking just a little, and tucked the corners around her carefully, deliberately._

_“Some guys are just bad guys,” Cece told her. “You can’t count on them. But you can count on me.” She kissed Alison’s forehead. “I’ll always be there for you, doll.”_

\-------

Alison was getting some feeling back in her fingertips. Maybe another hour or two and she could wiggle her way out of the straitjacket. Then she heard the sound of the door opening, and felt a syringe plunge into her neck.

\-------  
_  
The siren was deafening. Caleb was dead. A psycho in a hood was shooting tear gas and tranquilizer darts at them. Hanna was probably going to faint any second now. Lucky her._

 _She tried to focus. Not think about what it would be like to hear them pulling out Aria’s fingernails, waterboarding Pigskin. She looked at Spencer and Emily, mounting a defense as if they weren’t already beaten. She thought about the handwriting in that notebook. She saw the hood peek out from around the corner. She aimed for his head._  
  
\-------

Alison opened her eyes, relieved. She wasn’t dead. Yet. 

\-------

_  
Alison was sitting next to Charlotte on the couch in Dr. Rollins’ office, tan from the summer in Costa Rica, smiling from three months of waking up next to Emily Fields every morning._

_“You seem happy,” Dr. Rollins observed._

_“I am. Very happy.”_

_“Would you like to talk about that?”_

_Alison considered it for a moment. It was therapy, after all. It didn’t work unless you at least tried to talk about your feelings. “It’s Emily,” she answered. “I like who I am when I’m with her. I’d like to keep being that person. I think, maybe, forever.”_

_Dr. Rollins frowned, crossed his legs. “So, you are able to see yourself as a good person only if Emily sees you as a good person, is that what you’re saying? Because you perceive Emily as good, you believe that her love for you is the proof of your own goodness, your own worth. Ask yourself, Alison - is that sustainable? Would she still see you in that way if she knew all the things you have done?”_

_“You and Charlotte were both the children of a cold and authoritarian father. It was impossible to feel close to him. In Charlotte, this manifested as her wanting to grow up to become a woman, like her mother, the only parent who had shown her any affection. In your case, it manifests in your reluctance to form lasting relationships with men. You believe that they are all like your father, incapable of demonstrating appropriate love and affection.”_

_“You’re wrong,” Alison said, although she could hear the tiniest seed of doubt in her voice. One that hadn’t been there only moments ago._

_Charlotte looked at Alison, then at Rollins. “You’re also a dickhead,” she announced._  
  
\----------

Alison was pretty sure she could move her left arm, but she decided to be as still as possible, in case anyone was watching. This was Rosewood, after all. Someone was always watching.

\-----------  
__  
Alison checked to make sure the blinds to Rollins’ office were tightly shut.

_She hiked up her skirt as she moved on top of Rollins._

_If you were going to do a thing, she thought, you might as well do it thoroughly._

_\----------_

_Alison wore a black dress to the courthouse. White would hardly be appropriate, and wearing her mother’s clothes always made her feel mature and sophisticated. This was Rosewood, after all, where the line between formal wear and funeral wear was practically non-existent. She looked hot. It showed off her legs._

_“You look radiant,” Joseph said right before he hurried off to fill out the paperwork. “I’ve always loved that dress.”_

_Charlotte looked at her worriedly. She checked over her shoulder to make sure Dr. Rollins was busy with the clerk. “Do you even like him, Ali?”_

_“It doesn’t matter,” Alison shrugged. “Love is for people who believe in happy endings.”_

_\---------_

_Alison was brushing her hair, watching Joseph watch her reflection in the mirror._

_Sometimes it felt like he was always observing her, looking at her the way a cat looks at mouse._

_She figured that must be what love was like, for regular people._

_“Why did you marry me?” she asked him._

_“Because my darling, we’re a perfect match.”_  
  
\----------

Alison thought she heard footsteps in the hallway. Maybe someone was coming for her. It wasn’t a rescuer. It was another syringe.

\-----------  
__

_Joseph stood out in the hallway, called away for an important consultation. Charlotte and Alison sat together in his office, each holding a baby doll they were supposed to make interact with one another._

_“I have a secret,” Charlotte said, moving her doll as if the doll was the one talking._

_“”You do?” Alison asked, putting her doll’s hand to it’s ear, as if it was longing to know._

_Charlotte moved her doll against the hand to the ear of Alison’s doll, and whispered, “I have a friend. A visitor.”_

_Alison moved the hands of her doll to its cheeks, so it looked surprised. “Who?”_

_Charlotte didn’t answer right away. She put the doll down and looked at Alison directly. “Did you know that it’s wrong to treat people like dolls?”_

_“Yes,” Alison answered, in a voice dripping with some of the old sarcasm. “I’m not a sociopath.”_

_“Sociopath, homeopath,” Charlotte scoffed. “Besides, we’re practically the same person. That’s why I’m trying to tell you, I learned something.”_

_“Okay,” Alison said, slowly putting down her doll._

_“It’s not wrong because some guy in a suit says it’s wrong,” Charlotte explained. “It’s wrong because when you play with people like they’re dolls, you’re making all their choices for them. And maybe you can force them to do what you want, you can make them act like they love you, but it’s not real. Dolls can’t surprise you. People can. People can surprise you. They can even turn out to love you when you least expect it.”_

_Alison tried to follow this line of thought, but like a lot about Charlotte, the logic took a few too many turns to make sense. But Charlotte wasn’t deterred._

_“I don’t think I ever told you how,” she started, pausing to rest a hand on Alison’s shoulder and squeezing gently, “extremely much I love you.” She squeezed Alison’s shoulder again and removed her hand. Charlotte stared into Alison’s eyes, which were suddenly brimming with tears. “You understand that, right?”_

_“Yes,” Alison assured her. “That’s a lot of love.”_

_“It really is,” Charlotte agreed._

_\-------_

_Sometimes when Joseph kissed her, it felt oddly like he was thinking of someone else._

_So was she._

_They were a perfect match after all._

_\-------_

_She was on the beach with Emily, who was leaning back against her, her bathing suit still a little damp. Alison felt the outline of the two silver rings in the pocket of her shorts. The sun was turning the entire sky orange._

_She thought about all the secrets Emily didn’t know. “Did you ever stop loving me?” she asked. “When you thought I was dead?”_

_Emily frowned. This was one of her least favorite topics of all time. “I was mad at you for a long time,” she answered. “About the locker room. About Ian. About all the things you never told me. It was easy to be mad. It made it hurt less. But I still loved you.”_

_She thought about Emily’s face that day in the locker room. Then she thought about how tightly Emily held her when they met up in that old factory, how she’d dressed up a little, how clear it was that she hadn’t stopped caring._

_“Your life would have been a lot easier if you never met me.”_

_“Love isn’t about what’s easy,” Emily said, craning her neck to look up into Alison’s face._

_“No,” Alison agreed. “But there has to be a limit to how much fucked up craziness you can take before you decide it’s not worth it anymore.”_

_Emily kissed her sweetly, chastely, like they were still in high school._

_“It’s not a credit card,” she said afterwards. “There are no limits, Alison.”_

_Ali didn’t believe her. Then._  
  
\-------

Alison feels light headed, woozy. She remembers being ten years old and having the flu, thinks about her mother pressing a cool hand against her feverish forehead.

\-------  
_  
Alison sat across from Melissa Hastings in the living room. Melissa was drinking white wine and pointedly ignoring her. Alison wished she could have talked Joseph out of having them over for dinner. She’d told him she didn’t like Wren. Didn’t trust him. But Joseph insisted she was being ridiculous. it was one dinner. The man was one of his partners, he lived next door._

_Sometimes Alison thought of her marriage as an experiment. A failed one._

_She could hear Joseph and Wren clattering around, making a big man show of cleaning up in the kitchen._

_She wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to be Charlotte. To quietly slip a little antifreeze into the soup, untroubled by thoughts of how upset Spencer would be if Melissa died, too._

_“How’s Emily?” Melissa asked, speaking for the first time in at least ten minutes. “Spencer never talks about her anymore.”_

_Alison shot Melissa the biggest fake smile she could muster. “She’s fine.” Not that she ever talked to Emily, of course. She kept up, though. Occasionally browsed through Hanna’s email account. The girl was married to Mr. Cyber Security Rivers and her password was still Haleb123._

_There was a crash and the sound of breaking china from the kitchen. She and Melissa both got up to check on the commotion._

_There was soup splattered against the far wall, broken pieces of a bowl littering the floor._

_Joseph and Wren were doubled over, laughing so hard they were wiping away tears. A private joke._

_\-----------_

_Emily is holding that letter in her hand, and there’s a look in her eyes that’s softer than Alison deserves._

_“Where did you get that?” Alison whispers._

_“It doesn’t matter,” Emily says. “Alison, I didn’t write this.”_

_\--------------_

_Alison was sitting close to Charlotte in her room at New Directions. Joseph was in sight down the corridor, talking intently to Wren Kingston._

_“I think Jason is off the wagon again,” Alison said. “I ran into him at the grocery store last week, and when I asked him how he was doing, he said,” Alison pauses and taps Charlotte’s knee for emphasis, “Whiskey ruined every night in September. Drink absinthe not gin, except rum on uneasy stomachs.” She laughs and taps Charlotte’s knee again. “Drunks say the craziest things, right?”_

_“I know,” Charlotte said. “I remember.”_

_Alison cast a long look at Wren’s face as he spoke to Joseph. She motioned towards them with an almost imperceptible nod, then opens her purse to flash Charlotte the sight of a New Directions staff id and passkey._

_“Just in case?” Charlotte asked, and Alison nodded._

_Charlotte was quiet, then she reached into her pocket and offered Alison a gold foil wrapped piece of candy._

_“My favorite.” Alison said, as she placed it on her tongue._

_“I know,” Charlotte said. “My favorite, too.”_

_\-------_

Alison isn’t sure how much time has passed. If this is going to work, she thinks, it better be soon.


	41. Brotherly Love

Emily and Aria, dressed in Candy Stripers, are acting on Spencer’s orders, searching every room, utility closet, and laundry basket in the hospital for any sign of Alison.

“Nothing, nothing, and more nothing,” Aria says glumly. “Do you think she ran?”

“No,” Emily says. “She wouldn’t run with Charlotte still missing.”

“Do you think he stabbed himself?” Aria asks. “In the guts? Because that seems really hard core.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Emily replies. “She wasn’t inside for very long. Not long enough to stab him then decide to OD on sleeping pills. They wouldn’t even have worked that fast.”

“So maybe he drugged her?” Aria suggests. 

“Maybe,” Emily says uncertainly, peering into a laundry cart full of foul smelling bedding. “I thought maybe Wren was in on it, but he seemed pretty shocked.”

“And pretty spry, like a guy not nursing a bullet wound to the knee cap.”

“Ali said she thought maybe it was Rollins down there, but his knees seemed fine, too.”

“Great. So either there’s a third guy, or they’ve got a lab down there where they can regrow kneecaps,” Aria sighs, pulling open a closet in the nurse’s lounge.

\-------

Spencer and Jason are standing outside Hanna’s room comparing notes.

“The cops are clueless,” Jason says. “They think she tried to kill Rollins and then faked a suicide attempt to facilitate her escape. It’s ridiculous.”

“It is,” Spencer agrees. “If Ali wanted to kill someone, they’d be dead.”

“Did you have any luck with the security tapes?” he asks.

“Yes and no,” Spencer frowns. “I snuck in there while the cops were questioning the security staff, but there’s nothing there. If she ran, or if someone took her, they knew exactly how to avoid the cameras.”

“Who would take her?” Jason asks, baffled. “Spencer, what’s going on? You and your friends are back, Aria’s asking me all kinds of questions about that stupid N.A.T. club, and now Alison is missing? Again?”

“Sit down,” Spencer tells her brother. “This might take awhile.”

\----------

Emily and Aria poke their heads into Caleb’s room, where he’s sleeping peacefully.

Aria checks behind the door. Emily looks behind the curtains, checks the cast on his arm for any messages.

Nothing.

\----------

Jason listens to Spencer’s explanation of events, looking increasingly horrified. And also like he maybe wishes he could have a drink.

“Okay,” he says when she’s done. “I have an idea.”

“You do?” Spencer says, surprised.

Jason nods. “I have some questions for Dr. Rollins.”

\---------

There’s a cop sitting on guard outside the room, awake.

Aria comes running down the hall, still in her Candy Striper outfit. “That blonde girl,” she exclaims breathlessly, “the one everyone’s looking for, I just saw her in the stairwell!”

The cop jumps to his feet and follows her, skidding into the stairwell just in time to see a blonde woman in a hospital gown hastily exiting several floors below them. He thunders down the stairs after her.

\----------

Spencer and Jason, wearing white doctor’s coats stolen from a laundry bin, slip into Dr. Rollins’ room. Rollins himself is sitting up in bed, looking peevish and fretful. He grimaces when he sees Jason, reaching for the call button to summon a nurse, but Spencer grabs it first.

“Where is Alison?” Jason growls. “What did you do to her?”

Rollins rolls his eyes. “Your sister is violent and unstable, Jason. You might find that attractive, but I’m afraid it gets a bit less so when she’s plunging a knife between your ribs.”

Spencer rifles through his medical chart. “Missed your vital organs, though. That’s convenient.”

“Where is she?” Jason asks again. 

“I have no idea,” Rollins says sourly. “Did you check with her little butch?” 

Whatever he would have said next is lost to a groan of pain as Spencer leans an elbow against his stitches. “You say one more word about Emily,” she warns, “and I might lose my temper.”

“Now,” she continues, “tell us exactly what happened.”

“Alison came in,” he gasps, “full of crazy accusations. I was cutting up vegetables. We heard glass breaking, I turned around, and the next thing I knew she’d grabbed the knife and stabbed me. I blacked out, and when I came to, Wren was helping me and Alison was passed out on the couch.”

“Cut the crap,” Spencer insists. “Did you stab yourself? Did Wren do it for you?”

“Alison--stabbed--me,” he replies.

“Where’s Charlotte?” Spencer asks.

“Tree Tops,” he answers. “She switched facilities.”

“Are you lying on purpose right now?” Spencer inquires, “Or on accident?”

“I’m not lying, Ms. Hastings,” he insists, “but I am about to start bleeding if you don’t remove your elbow in the next twenty seconds.”

“I’ll count to ten,” Spencer deadpans. “Was the Dollhouse your idea? Were you down there? Were you recording the experiments on us?”

Rollins scoffs, through the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Keep talking like that,” he says ominously. “Radley may be closed, but we can find another fine institution willing to treat your extreme hysteria and delusions of persecution.”

Spencer removes her elbow, giving him a scathing look as she does so. 

“I think we’re done here,” she announces.

“Not so fast,” Jason says, moving forward. He checks the IVs, yanking out the morphine drip. Then he wraps a hand around Rollins’ throat, so hard that he lifts him a few inches off the bed.

“Was it you?” he demands, pressing his forehead against Rollins’, “Did you kill my mother?”

\---------------

Emily peers out of a supply closet, watching Hanna hurry back into her room. She can hear the footsteps of the cop in the stairwell in hot pursuit.

She’s getting ready to open the door, to point the cop towards the far end of the ward, when a hooded figure grabs her from behind, a black gloved hand covering her mouth to stifle her scream.


	42. Desperate Times

Rollins is pale, gasping for air as Jason tightens his grip around his throat. 

“Jason!” Spencer says, sharply. Jason loosens his grip slightly, lowering Rollins back onto the bed.

“I loved her,” he rasps, then loses consciousness. All of his monitors start sounding alarms, and Spencer grabs Jason, hustling him out into the hallway.

\-------------

They burst into Hanna’s room minutes later. 

“What was that?” Spencer hisses at him. “He killed your mother?! And you let him marry Alison?”

“Hey, no one lets Alison do anything.” Jason protests. “And I wasn’t even a hundred percent sure he knew my mother, until tonight.”

“Wait,” Hanna cuts in. “Are you talking about Dr. Rollins?”

“He killed your mother?” Aria asks, aghast.

“I don’t know,” Jason admits. “After Kenneth served her the divorce papers, she started seeing someone. An old friend of hers. She didn’t talk about it much, but I knew it was someone she reconnected with through the Radley board. Whoever the guy was, he was pressing for something serious, and she just wasn’t interested. She made a couple offhand comments about seeing him drive past the house, how he kept showing up at charity events she was attending. Once she thought he might have been watching the house. I think that’s why she had that sudden interest in getting the dog. But I never knew his name. She tried to keep the details private, especially since I’d only just found out about - you know, Peter being more than the weirdly friendly guy next door.”

“Why didn’t you tell any of this to the police?” Aria asks.

“I did, but they didn’t seem to take it seriously. I didn’t even have his name. And I was foggy on the details, I’d started drinking again around that same time. The more I talked, the more suspicious Tanner seemed to be of me.”

“We know the feeling,” Hanna tells him.

“So what made you figure it was Rollins?” Spencer asks. “She must have known a lot of doctors through Radley.”

“Something about the way he threatened you,” Jason says. “Something clicked. All of a sudden, I remembered hearing her talking to someone on the phone one night. She said, ‘Not wanting to be with you doesn’t make me hysterical. And I’m not being paranoid, I know you’ve been following me.’ It makes sense, right? Someone messed with her medication - who would know how to do that better than a doctor?”

“Oh my god,” Aria exclaims. “Alison married him!”

“I’m upgrading my feelings on that from ‘gross’ to ‘ghoulish,” Hanna agrees. “He might be a killer, a mad scientist, and a stalker. Do we throw in kidnapper and make it four for the price of one?”

“But he was getting his stomach stitched up,” Spencer points out. “He couldn’t have taken her. Either she ran, or someone else grabbed her.”

“Speaking of grabbing Alison,” Aria says, looking around, “Where’s Emily?”

“She texted,” Hanna informs them. “She said she was following a lead.”

“Who’s her back up?” Aria asks, curiously. “Paige?”

“Paige left,” Spencer says tersely. “We’re not talking about it.”

“So she’s gone rouge?” Aria asks, appalled. “Because last time she did that, a talking doll and a barn full of carbon monoxide were involved.”

“But a lead is more than we have, isn’t it?” Jason asks. “That’s something.”

“We’re not out of leads, yet.” Spencer says. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“What measures?” Jason asks, warily.

“It’s time to confront Melissa.”


	43. Girls in Windows

Spencer and Jason wait in his car outside the Hastings house, trying to keep a low profile, waiting for Wren to leave for the office. The sky is still dark, it’s at least half an hour before dawn.

“Can I ask you something that’s not about the mystery?” Jason says, hesitantly.

“Yes,” Spencer replies, her eyes focused on the front door. “She likes you.”

Neither of them see the hooded figure watching them from the upstairs window of the DiLaurentis house.

\--------

Aria shows up back at the hospital so early that Hanna’s breakfast tray hasn’t even arrived yet.

“Emily never came back last night,” she says, worriedly. “And she’s not answering her phone.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Hanna says, “If following ‘a lead’ was code for Ali.”

“Like she’s on the run, and wanted to take Em with her this time?” Aria asks.

“Or she’s working a long game, and Emily figured it out,” Hanna theorizes.

“Should we be worried?” Aria asks. 

“I’m always worried,” Hanna replies. “But it’s Emily, right? If she thinks she has a chance of finding Ali, she’s going to do whatever it takes.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Aria mutters. “But in the meantime, Spencer wants us to watch these for clues.” She pulls the dvds out of her purse, holding them by two fingers, as if she wants to touch them as little as possible.

Hanna examines their cases and makes a face. “That puts a whole new spin on bed rest.”

\--------

Spencer is slouched in the front seat of Jason’s car, watching Wren’s car drive away from the Hastings house.

“You stay here,” she tells Jason. “Watch my back.”

\--------

The first Carassimi video is called “Girls in Windows,” and features a seemingly endless series of shots of Rosewood’s teenage girls changing clothes. 

Hanna’s list of unintentional Carissimi video stars so far includes Bridget Wu, Cindy and Mindy, and an impossibly petite and nerdy Mona Vanderwaal practicing sexy poses in front of her mirror.

Hanna makes a sound in the back of her throat as the camera zooms in on another familiar window. It lingers for a lengthy montage of her and her mother laughing hard and dancing around her second floor bedroom. She watches her fourteen year old self jump up and down, scantily clad in a bra and panties and one of her dad’s unbuttoned white shirts with the sleeves rolled up. 

“Halloween,” she says hollowly. “I was practicing to be Britney Spears.” She blinks hard, wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, and writes her own name down. 

“Fuck them,’ she declares angrily. “Fuck every single member of the N.A.T. club. And if Jason knew about this and was too busy swilling Boone’s Farm to stop it - then fuck him, too.”

Aria takes Hanna’s hand, watches the image of Hanna on the screen, giggling and pigtailed, trying to nail the high kick move at the end of the “Baby One More Time” video. 

“Fuck Alison, too,” Aria tells her. “Look at you. You weren’t even fat.”

Hanna snort laughs and squeezes her hand.

\---------

Spencer lets herself into her old house, vaguely surprised that Melissa didn’t change the locks. She can hear Melissa upstairs on the treadmill. Typical. Her sister is not big on letting anyone see her sweat. As Spencer starts up the stairs, she freezes at the sound of the back door closing. She waits for the sound of footsteps that don’t come. If someone was down there, they must have been going out and not in.

She reaches the top of the stairs and watches Melissa, in a red t-shirt and shorts, running in place.

\-------

“I need a shower,” Aria says, making notes as the second Carissimi dvd plays. 

“This looks like another Kahn cabin bedroom scene,” Hanna frowns.

“I hate these,” Aria says. “Anyone we know?”

“Wasn’t he your fake boyfriend for a minute?” Hanna asks, pointing at the screen.

Aria squints at the slightly built curly haired guy on the screen. “I never saw that particular part of him before, but yes. That’s Holden Strauss.”

Hanna writes his name down. A girl enters the room on the screen and starts kissing him.

Aria’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my god!”

Hanna’s mouth is a tight line of anger and confusion, but she writes the name down. Maya St. Germain.

\-------

“Melissa,” Spencer says. If her sister is surprised, she doesn’t let it show. She looks over her shoulder, not breaking her stride.

“Spencer,” she replies, not even breathing hard. “Please, let yourself in. My house is your house.”

“I need to talk to you,” Spencer tries. 

“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?” Melissa ponders, sarcastically. “Alison trying to kill her husband? Mom having to come down and storm around to get Emily off an assault charge? Hanna and Caleb being in the hospital? Or some wild story you were trying to sell Detective Tanner about Wren?” Her feet are pounding the treadmill belt harder than necessary, which is a clear sign to Spencer that she really is mad, as opposed to just bitchy.

Spencer walks to lean against the wall in front of the treadmill, forcing Melissa to look at her directly. Forcing her to pretend she’s running toward her without actually moving, like she’s been doing her whole life.

“Remember when you told me there comes a time when you go from survivor to predator?” Spencer asks, not waiting for a reply. “I need to know, Melissa. Are you sleeping with the enemy here, or are you the enemy?”

“I’m not your enemy, Spencer. I’m your sister.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Do you want there to be?”

“All I want is the truth!” Spencer says, raising her voice.

“I wanted that once, too,” Melissa says snidely. “When I was a child, I spoke as a child. But when I became an adult, I put childish things away. Now It’s time for you to grow up and do the same, little sister.”

“The Bible? Really?” Spencer asks in disbelief. “You need to be condescending and Puritanical?”

“All I want is for you to be safe!” Melissa exclaims. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted!”

“How can I be safe if I don’t know what I need to be afraid of?” Spencer asks, exasperated. “You’re a Hastings - you’re way too smart not to understand that Wren Kingston is an empty suit made of crazy cloth!”

Melissa’s nostrils flare with anger. “You know _nothing_ about my life. And whatever you _think_ you know about Wren, I recommend you forget all about it. _Now._ ”

“Is that what you do? Is that how you stay with him?” Spencer asks. She pulls the picture of Wren and Veronica out of her purse and waves it in front of her sister’s face. “Did you know about this? Did you know, when he was coming on to me, that he was trying to complete the set?” 

Melissa punches a button on the treadmill, hard. It shuts down with a mechanical whir. She grabs the picture out of Spencer’s hand.

“Where did you get this?” Melissa demands.

“Does it matter?” Spencer asks. “Did you know?”

Melissa is already ripping the picture up into tiny pieces. “We are not having this conversation,” she says, throwing the pieces like grainy black and white confetti into the toilet bowl in the guest bathroom. She flushes the toilet with a vengeance, then turns back to Spencer. 

“I don’t care how old you are, you’re still my little sister. And I need you to do something for me, alright? I need you to trust me. It’s not your job to worry about Wren, okay? It’s mine.”

“You do not understand what you’re dealing with,” Spencer assures her. “This isn’t just about him bedding our mom. He’s not who he says he is! He’s like a man without a face! Did you know he knew Ian? That he was paying him for videos of girls in their bedrooms? That he’s not British? That he might not even be a doctor?”

“Of course he’s a doctor,” Melissa scoffs. “And whatever fairy tale you’re spinning, whatever story you’re making up where Wren is the big bad ogre - I have lived with him for years, Spencer. I promise you, I know exactly who he is.” 

“Then you know he designed the Dollhouse!” Spencer shouts. “It’s not a fairy tale when Prince Charming builds an underground prison to experiment on me, on my friends! Do you really love him so much you can look the other way on what he did to me?”

“You really do think the worst of me, don’t you?” Melissa says, acidly. “I was going crazy the whole time you were missing, I was beside myself! How can you act like I care so little about you? But you must know exactly how crazy you sound. Charlotte DiLaurentis designed the Dollhouse! Charlotte DiLaurentis kidnapped you and your friends and imprisoned you there! Feel bad for her if you want, but don’t try to pin her actions on anyone or anything, other than her own twisted brain.”

“Did Wren take Alison from the hospital last night?” Spencer presses. “Did you? Do you know where she is?”

“Hopefully she’s somewhere where she can get help!” Melissa says. “You saw what she did! She tried to turn her husband into a kebab!”

“Did she?” Spencer asks. “Or did you? Or did Doctor Svengali?”

Melissa holds up her hand. “That’s _enough,_ Spencer. I don’t know where your precious little Alison is. But by all means, keep looking for her! Keep following in her footsteps, but when you find yourself burning in hell, don’t act like your _actual_ sister didn’t try to warn you.”

“Like you tried to protect me before?” Spencer asks.

“Just like that,” Melissa answers.

“You told me you buried a stranger! But you called the police and identified the body as Bethany Young! Why would you do that? Who was really in that grave?”

“These woods are dark and deep,” Melissa answers menacingly, but something in her face is different. Harder. Closed. “And you should know better than to risk getting lost in them.”

“What are you even saying?”

“Ask me no questions,” Melissa answers. “I’ll tell you no lies.”

“I’m tired of this!” Spencer exclaims. “I’m tired of you quoting The Tempest while you’re playing Lady MacBeth! What were you doing at the Monaco Hotel the other night? Who were you meeting? Rollins?”

Her sister’s eyes get the same look Spencer remembers from the time she was fourteen and their mom caught Melissa smoking behind the barn. Everything she’s said, and somehow the hotel is what has Melissa dead to rights?

“If you keep digging,” Melissa replies, “you will find yourself in a hole so deep, you won’t even know where your body is buried. Except it will be next to Hanna and Aria and Emily - pretty little tombstones all in a row! Is that what you want? Because if it’s not - you need to pack up the rest of the Liars and go.”

“Go where?” Spencer laughs. “Nowhere is safe for us, don’t you understand?”

“Everywhere is safer than here,” Melissa tells her. “I love you, Spencer. Now get the hell out of my house.”

\-----------

Hanna is on her second bowl of oatmeal, as she and Aria watch Sara Harvey and her friends have a topless pillow fight.

“Is this what girls do when they’re alone together?” a voice asks from the doorway.

“Caleb!” Hanna exclaims, beaming at her husband. He’s in a wheelchair and sporting so much tape around his ribs that he looks a little like a mummy. He has a huge cast on his arm, too, but she’s maybe never been so happy to see him. Hanna hops out of bed and kisses on the forehead, then gingerly on the lips. 

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Aria suggests.

“No,” Caleb says. “Stay. Where is everyone? I need to talk to Spencer. I tried to text her, but my phone died.”

“She’s with Melissa,” Hanna says.

“Send an SOS,” Caleb tells her urgently. “Now!”

“Okay, okay,” Hanna says, hitting send on the message. “What’s the big emergency?”

“Melissa Hastings was at the Dollhouse,” Caleb answers grimly. “She’s the one who shot me.”

\-----------

Melissa watches Spencer from the window, sees her sister walk out of the house and start peering into the windows of the barn. She picks up her phone and puts a call through.

“Go,” she says.

\-----------

Jason looks down at his phone to read the text from Aria.

>SPENCER IN DANGER! GET HER OUT OF THERE NOW!!!!

He gets out of the car.

\----------

Spencer looks down at her phone to read the message from Hanna.

>SOS. SOS.

She feels Melissa watching her from the upstairs window, looks up and meets her sister’s eyes just as a hooded figure appears behind her, as a black gloved hand covers her mouth, and starts dragging her forcibly into the woods.

\-----------

The hooded figure inside the DiLaurentis house watches Jason get out of his car and start running towards the back of the Hastings property. She heads out the front door carrying a briefcase and a backpack, hops into Alison’s car and turns the key in the ignition.

“God, I thought he’d never leave,” Emily says, pulling the hood off.

“We’ve still got thirty minutes till the shift change,” a voice says from beneath a blanket on the floor of the back seat. Charlotte DiLaurentis pops her head up, meeting Emily’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “How about it, Varjack? Let’s go rescue my sister.”


	44. Monsters Under the Bed

Spencer struggles half-heartedly until she’s pulled behind the tree line. Once Melissa is out of sight, she bites down hard on the hand covering her mouth and kicks forcefully at her attacker’s knee cap. He drops her like a stone.

“Dad?” she says, turning around.

“Ow,” Peter Hastings responds from beneath the hood, examining his hand for traces of blood.

“Next time you sneak up on someone, you should probably cut back on the cologne,” Spencer suggests.

“Good advice,” her father mutters. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“So can I ask why you’re trying to kidnap your own daughter, or is this what passes for quality time in our family these days?”

“I needed to get your attention, Spencer.”

Spencer stares at him in disbelief. “You have my attention,” she promises. “Then when we’re done, you can try snatching your other daughter. The one who’s practically married to a psychopath.”

“Melissa isn’t married to a psychopath,” he says, in his father knows best voice. Spencer can practically smell the pipe smoke, imagine him in the den wearing leather slippers. “Your sister wants what’s best for you, and so do I.” 

He puts his hands on her shoulders. “I know you’re enjoying your work with the Senator, but you could take the foreign service exam--we could set you up with something at the French embassy. Your accent is good. We could find something for Paige, too.”

Spencer’s face contorts as she hears him offer Paige a spot in the fantasy world he’s building up for her. She knows her dad. Knows he would, given the smallest encouragement, bully as many nations as needed to punch his plan into reality. Maybe she should let him, she thinks. Maybe he could convince Paige that she’s worth it. Talk up their imaginary future life full of safety and fresh croissants.

Her train of thought is interrupted by Jason, who appears out of nowhere and tackles their father, body slamming him to the ground. 

Spencer goes from trying not to cry to trying not to laugh, especially as Jason looks so pleased with himself until he pulls the hood down and registers Peter’s face.

“Jason?” Peter gasps, the wind briefly knocked out of him.

“Oh!” Jason says, “Sorry! I mean - that hoodie, and -” he continues mumbling more words as he helps Peter Hastings to his feet, only some of which are intelligible. “Spencer - in trouble - Sir.”

“I understand,” Peter says, brushing himself off. 

“You rescued yourself,” Jason says, shaking his head at Spencer. “Of course you did.”

“Don’t worry,” Spencer assures him. “That was the perfect entrance for one of our rough and tumble Hastings family meetings. Dad was just in the middle of his Henry James impersonation.”

“This is not a novel,” Peter says, sternly. “This isn’t me trying to pack you off to Europe because you’ve misbehaved.”

“Really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “Europe is good, right?”

“Yes,” Peter says, emphatically. “It’s good. Convince your sister, Jason. You could go, too.”

Jason narrows his eyes. 

“Why don’t you give Melissa some of these travel brochures that you’re pedaling?” Spencer asks. “Wren Kingston isn’t who he says he is! Someone whitewashed that background check! Melissa is either in danger or dangerous herself!”

“Spencer,” her father says, slowly. “I’m not going to lie. I wish Wren Kingston had never come into our lives. He certainly isn’t the path I would have chosen for your sister. But it’s too late to change that now. And trying to break them apart with wild accusations is like poking at a wasp’s nest - you’re going to get stung.”

“These are not wild accusations,” Spencer insists. “How much do you know about his history? Do you know that he -” she hesitates, then pushes forward, “knew Mom before he started seeing Melissa?”

“I’m aware of that, yes.” Peter says shortly. “And this is exactly why you need to let this go! Our family works on an elaborate system of checks and balances--which does not include opening up every sordid moment of the past for debate!”

“Are you serious?” Spencer asks. “Can’t you see he’s been working an agenda?”

Peter runs a hand through his hair, which Spencer suddenly notices is greying at the temples. The lines around his eyes look deeper, more settled, like they’ve gone from faint pencil marks to India ink.

“It’s no secret that I haven’t been a perfect husband.” His eyes flicker over Jason’s face, “Or a perfect father. I was so focused on myself, on my caseload, on winning at all costs and being the biggest shark in the tank - my own wife couldn’t tell me when she found a lump in her breast. She couldn’t talk to me. Wren was on a surgical rotation. And--as you may remember--he can be quite charming. These things happen. People make mistakes. That’s not an agenda. That’s just loneliness.”

“But then he showed up engaged to Melissa!” Spencer protests. “That’s not a coincidence!”

“An extremely unfortunate coincidence,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Melissa looks so much like your mother. She has that same sharpness. The same vulnerability.”

“Her vulnerability? Her vulnerability is that Wren is not who he says he is! She’s in an unhealthy relationship with a treacherous philandering criminal! And she knew? She knew that was with Mom?”

“Not at first. Your mother confessed the truth when they went away together, shortly before - before Melissa lost the baby.”

Spencer looks at him in disbelief, wondering how much he still doesn’t know about his own daughter. Secrets wrapped in secrets, she thinks, with more secrets sprinkled on top.

“You’ve been through so much, Spencer,” he continues. “I understand why you would want to imagine that there was a larger, more devious explanation than that one mentally unbalanced young woman was behind it all. But that’s what you’re doing - you’re imagining connections where none exist.”

“Don’t,” Spencer says, putting up her hand. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m imagining things. This is not monsters under the bed, Dad. This is a very real, very specific monster, in Melissa’s bed.”

“You should listen to her,” Jason says, breaking his silence. “Maybe it does sound crazy, but haven’t we all seen crazier things turn out to be true?”

“Not you, too,” Peter laments.

“There’s something you hear a lot, in rehab,” Jason offers. “You have to ask yourself, do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?”

“That’s hardly relevant,” Peter says impatiently. 

“I disagree,” Jason says. “Right now, you’d rather be happy. Spencer would rather be right.” He turns his back on his father and takes Spencer’s arm. “We need to go,” he tells her. “Aria just texted. They’re releasing Hanna and Caleb from the hospital.”

\----------

As they make their way quickly back to the car, taking a wide circle around the Hastings house, Spencer is talking almost as fast as she’s walking.

“My mom must have ordered the background check to be bogus. And whatever Melissa is up to, he’s in on it! She must have set up that little pater-napping. He’s not the Big Bad Wolf, he doesn’t spend all day lurking in the woods waiting for me to walk by on the way to grandma’s house.”

“You’re a lot like him,” Jason says.

Spencer frowns. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment right now.”

“It’s not. It’s a warning. He never stops until he gets what he wants. And what he was saying about how he got so focused on his work - you have that tunnel vision too, just with mysteries.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side. That’s why I want you to make sure you keep looking at the big picture.”

“You’re kidding, right? Jason, all I ever do is look at the big picture, hoping that someday I’ll see something that makes some kind of sense.”

“He was lying,” Jason says. “He obviously believes you’re in danger.”

“I know.”

“There’s more too it, though. Whatever this is, he feels responsible for it.”

“How do you figure?”

“He wanted to send me to Europe with you. I know exactly one thing about our dad - he only makes me offers like that when he feels guilty."


	45. Call it the Truth

_Emily fidgeted on the visitors room couch at New Directions, already feeling pretty sure she was making a mistake. Maybe she could just slip out and pretend she never had the idea to come here in the first place._

_“Emily?” Charlotte’s voice sounded shocked, but friendly. She stared for a moment at Emily’s name badge that read ‘E. Varjack’. “Did you get married, too? Or are you just borrowing one of my aliases?”_

_“I had to improvise,” Emily said, her arms folded across her chest. “I couldn’t think of a new one on the spot.” She tried to think of something neutral to say. “This place seems a lot nicer than Radley.”_

_“It is,” Charlotte agreed. “Mostly.” She paused. “What are you doing here?”_

_Emily shifted in her seat. “I couldn’t change my plane ticket,” she admitted. “I was supposed to come out here for Spring Break.”_

_“To see Ali,” Charlotte nodded. “Except now she’s in Germany. On her honeymoon.”_

_Emily stared at her feet and said nothing._

_“Why not take the train to New York?” Charlotte asked. “You could visit Hanna, right?”_

_“I’m doing that later,” Emily said. “But my train’s not until eight.”_

_“So you rented a car and drove out here - why, exactly?”_

_“No one is telling me anything,” Emily said quietly. “Spencer texted me about the wedding, and that was it. Aria’s in Japan, she doesn’t know any details. Hanna’s so mad she spits every time Alison’s name comes up. And Spencer isn’t calling me back. I don’t know if they’re afraid of hurting my feelings or what - but, I don’t know, you’re her sister. And you tried to kill me a bunch of times, so I figured you wouldn’t care about upsetting me.”_

_“Wow,” Charlotte said. “You must be really desperate if you were willing to come to me.”_

_“See?” Emily said with a sad smile. “That’s what I mean.” She leans forward. “This guy is your psychiatrist, right? Did he promise to get you out of here? Is he blackmailing her? Did he hypnotize her into marrying him or something?”_

_“No,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “It’s not like that, Emily. You’re thinking of it like an old movie where the villain has a twirly mustache and ties some lady with a million petticoats to the train tracks. I’m no expert in how the real world works, but it’s - it’s not always so clear cut.”_

_“Does she love him?” Emily asked._

_“What answer do you want, here?”_

_“The truth.”_

_“Bullshit. It doesn’t matter if she loves him. She married him. You’re asking me if she loves you. And that’s not a question for me. That’s a question for Ali.”_

_Emily sat with this answer for a minute. Charlotte was right. But she couldn’t ask Alison, seeing as how Ali was currently on her honeymoon. Which maybe was an answer in itself._

_“If you want my two cents,” Charlotte offered, “You worry too much about the truth. The truth is never as important as you think. Choose whatever story you want and call it the truth. Anything that helps you sleep at night. Be tough. One day you’ll wake up believing it.”_

_Emily put her head in her hands. “We were happy. Or, I thought we were happy. Maybe it was just me, though.”_

_Charlotte waited a minute as she thought about what to say. “Ali was happy,” she confirmed._

_To her complete horror, Emily started crying. Sobbing. In a mental health facility, in front of her ex-stalker. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but Charlotte DiLaurentis - confirmed sociopath and master criminal - being kind enough to lie to her was too much. And it had to be a lie, she told herself. She could tell by how much she wanted to believe it._

_Charlotte looked stunned at Emily’s outburst. She reached out and patted her tentatively on the back, which made Emily cry harder. Charlotte thought about when Alison was a baby, how much she cried, and put an arm around Emily’s shoulders._

_“I’m sorry,” Emily said, as she tried to pull herself together._

_“You are?” Charlotte asked. “For what?”_

_“For coming here,” Emily said. “For crying all over your sweatshirt. For never visiting you until I wanted something.”_

_“It’s not like we were friends,” Charlotte said._

_Emily wiped her eyes, fished a tissue out of her purse to blow her nose. “When I came out, I was so scared my parents were going to stop loving me. For something that was part of me, that was who I was. Hearing about your dad, how he stuck you in Radley - you lived through my worst nightmare. Then, okay, you became my worst nightmare - but still. I should have been here before. I should have come with Ali.”_

_Charlotte’s expression turned dark at the mention of Kenneth DiLaurentis. “You have no idea. My father wanted to fix me. He tried for a long time. Nothing worked, so he decided that erasing me would be easier than loving me.”_

_“If he could do that to you, it means there was something wrong with him. Not you.”_

_“I’ll be sure to tell him that, if I ever see him again,” Charlotte said, with the exact same sarcastic inflection that Alison would have used._

_“God,” Emily said. “You two are so much alike.”_

_“You miss her.”_

_Emily nodded sadly. “I should go. This was a stupid idea.”_

_“Love makes people stupid. But it was nice to see you, Emily. Come back anytime.”_

_“Maybe I will.”_

_“You will. And next time? Bring candy.”_

\---------

“I can’t believe you stole an ambulance,” Emily says, as Charlotte speeds towards New Directions. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” Charlotte scoffs. “We’re gonna give it back.”

“But these things must have GPS, right?”

“I disabled it. I used to do this kind of thing professionally, remember?”

“Do you have like a diagram or anything? Sometimes Spencer makes diagrams for her plans.”

“Yeah, but my plans usually work.”

Ten minutes later, they pull up to a loading dock in the back of the building. Charlotte tucks her hair underneath an EMT ballcap.

“Remember, keep your face down, we don’t want to give the cameras a clear shot. And we need to be fast, in and out before they have time to realize what’s happening. And if anyone asks questions - ”

“I tell them it was Mrs. Busoni on the fifth floor.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

They unload a gurney from the back of the ambulance, and Emily uses the passkey from Alison’s house to swipe them through the exterior door. Dressed in blue paramedics uniforms, also borrowed by Charlotte, who seemed to think of the world as a lightly criminal lending library, they got into the elevator without incident. A tall orderly gets on at the third floor, and Emily peeks up from the brim of her hat just long enough to see Eddie Lamb slide another key into Charlotte’s hand. 

Charlotte blows him a kiss as they get off on the sixth floor and hurry down the hallway to room 611, which looks less like a treatment room and more like a prison cell with its steel door and metal locks. Charlotte has the door open in seconds, and Emily pushes the gurney into a small padded room. Her heart contracts at the sight of Alison slumped in a wheelchair wearing a straitjacket. Charlotte is already ahead of her, grabbing the backboard and carefully rolling Ali onto it. 

Emily helps her lift it onto the gurney, and is relieved at the hazy look of recognition in Alison’s eyes. She squeezes Alison’s hand as she drapes a sheet over her body, pulling it over her head to disguise her as a corpse.  
“It’s only for a minute,” Charlotte whispers as they hurry back towards the elevators. “I know how you like to play dead.”

Emily almost faints when the elevator stops on the fourth floor, and she hears Wren’s voice drifting out of a patient’s room. An elderly lady shuffles in with them. 

“Oh dear,” she says, pressing the button for the ground floor. “Who is it now?”

“Mrs. Busoni from the fifth floor,” Emily replies. To her chagrin, the woman starts screaming and crying uncontrollably. This works in their favor, however, creating a nice diversion when they arrive back downstairs. 

“I thought that was the right answer,” Emily hisses.

“It was, except that was Mrs. Busoni. Don’t worry about it, though. She’s crazy.”

Moments later, they’re through the final set of doors and loading Alison into the back of the ambulance.

“You drive,” Charlotte says brusquely. “I’m going to see if I can bring her around.”

“Are you a doctor now, too?” Emily asks, burning rubber as she screeches out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. She glances in the rearview mirror and sees Charlotte opening up the straitjacket and starting what looks like a saline drip.

“No,” Charlotte answers, giving Alison a shot from a syringe she pulls out of her pocket. “But I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals.”

By the time they pull into the hospital parking lot where they left the car, Alison does seem more clear eyed if not entirely coherent.

Emily catches sight of Aria and Hanna loitering around the entrance of the building as she’s folding Alison into the backseat of the car. Charlotte shakes her head, as if she can read Emily’s mind. “Too risky,” she says, pointing to two bored looking men in suits sitting in a late model sedan, their eyes focused on her friends. “Tanner must have ordered a tail. Or tails,” she says, pointing out two black town cars with heavily tinted windows. “And since my sister and I are both fugitives right now, drawing police attention is not the best move.”

“Alright,” Emily agrees, craning her neck as she hops into the driver’s seat. “Then it’s not safe to take you both back to Aria’s. Do you have a lair? Can we hide out there?”

“I’m between lairs at the moment, but I do have - more of a cozy little den, I guess you’d call it - where I’ve been staying.”

“Great,” Emily says, starting the car. “Where am I taking us?”

“Head north,” Charlotte tells her. “We’re going to the Hastings’ lake house.”

\--------

Hanna scans the hospital parking lot. “Do you feel like someone is watching us?”

“Well,” Aria says, considering, “We’re in Rosewood and it’s a day that ends in ‘y’, so - yes.”

“I’m texting Spencer,” Hanna announces. “They can pick us up around back.”

Aria dutifully turns to head back inside, then grabs Hanna and pulls her behind a large planter.

“Shh!” Aria hisses, before Hanna can begin protesting. She gestures at the main doors of the hospital, where a nurse is wheeling a patient with his leg in a full cast out the automatic doors.

“You were lucky, Mr. Kahn,” she says. “Tell your brother to be more careful next time you go hunting.”


	46. The Best Laid Plans

“Was it Noel or Eric?” Spencer asks. 

“I didn’t see his face,” Hanna grumbles. “I was busy looking at the his knee. I saw fern leaves and dark hair.”

“Who picked him up?” Caleb asks. “He couldn’t have been driving himself home, right?”

“The nurse loaded him into a black car with tinted windows,” Aria replies. “We couldn’t see the driver.” She turns her head as they keep driving past her street. “Hey, where are we going?”

“Emily texted,” Spencer informs them. “We need to drive around and make sure we’re not being followed, then meet her at my parents’ lake house.”

\------

Charlotte is sitting cross legged on a papasan chair flipping through an old issue of Cosmo as she taps the last of a bag of M&Ms into her mouth.

Alison is sprawled on the couch as Emily crouches down and puts a bandaid over the syringe marks on her neck.

“Em,” Alison says, speaking for the first time since their arrival.

“It’s okay,” Emily assures her. “You’re safe. Charlotte, too. She’s here.”

Alison props herself up slowly on one elbow to look at her sister. 

Charlotte sets down the magazine and squats next to Emily. “Ali,” she says, her voice full of concern.

“I knew you’d come,” Alison says, her voice sounding froggy.

Charlotte’s hand moves so fast that Emily doesn’t realize what’s happening until she hears the sound of the slap. “That was a stupid fucking plan,” Charlotte scolds. Then she leans over and hugs Alison, who’s grinning in spite of the red handprint on her cheek. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Emily exclaims. “You don’t smack someone for getting kidnapped!”

Charlotte smirks at her as she stands. “I’m going to go read on the pier for awhile,” she says, with a wave of her hand. “Give you two lovebirds a chance to catch up.”

“What’s up with her?” Emily asks. 

Alison groans. “I thought she might have told you, now that you guys are friends.”

“Told me what? We were rescuing you, not braiding each others hair. Does she know who broke in? Or, was it Rollins? Did he drug you and stab himself?”

Alison puts a hand against Emily’s cheek. “No one broke in,” she admits. “I stabbed my husband and used one of those tranquilizer darts from the Dollhouse on myself.” She pauses to gauge the look on Emily’s face. “I didn’t think I hit any organs, did I?”

“What?” Emily exclaims. “Why would you do that? Was he attacking you? Was it him, in the Dollhouse?”

“I don’t think so. But we know Wren is involved, right? And if Joseph got - hurt - they’re partners, he’d find out right away. And if I made it look like a suicide attempt, they’d put me in the hospital instead of taking me to jail right away, and I figured if they had rooms ready for all of us in the Dollhouse, he’d want to grab me before I got sent to prison again.”

“Okay, are you sure your sister is the crazy one? Why would you want Wren to kidnap you?” 

“Remember how Charlotte knew I was alive because she put you all in danger at Thornhill Lodge? If Charlotte wasn’t kidnapped herself, I knew she would come for me if I was in real trouble. And she did!”

“But what if she was kidnapped?” 

Alison shrugs. “Then you and Spencer would have found me eventually.”

What if he locked you away somewhere we couldn’t find you? Ali, this plan has so many what ifs it’s making my head spin.”

“He couldn’t put me in the Dollhouse, not after Spencer was just there with the police. Even if he has other entrances, other access points, it would still be too risky. And it’s not like Melissa would let him keep prisoners in the basement. So I knew it would probably be New Directions. They have secure cells and he has access to them.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned any of this? In between the kisses and the almost dying and everything?”

“You would have tried to stop me,” Alison says, with no visible remorse. “We could either fight about it them, or fight about it now. And now we have Charlotte, which means it worked!”

“This can’t be like before!” Emily protests. “You don’t get to take huge risks and be a lone wolf just to avoid a fight! If this is going to work--if we’re going to work--we have to trust each other!”

“Please,” Alison counters. “Do you think I don’t know that you searched my house? My room? How else did you find that letter? I was counting on you having found the passports and pass key so that you could come get me! I was trusting you to be there when it counted!”

“Anything could have happened to you.”

“But it didn’t. Aren’t you glad that it didn’t?”

Emily gives her a half-smile. “I still think you were leaving an awful lot to chance.”

“I’d rather put myself in danger than all of you,” Alison says. “We all could have died in the Dollhouse! Or been taken and tortured and then killed. I didn’t know, Emily. I didn’t know what I was asking you to do by coming back.”

“What about these?” Emily asks quietly, pulling the silver rings out of her pocket. 

Alison bites her lip. “I bought them before we left Costa Rica. If things went south, I didn’t want you to have to wonder. I wanted you to know for sure that I did love you. Then and now.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “If things went south with your completely fool proof plan?”

“Be as mad as you want later, okay?” Alison suggests, wrapping a hand around the back of Emily’s neck. “Be kissing me now.”

Ten minutes later, they break apart at the sound of a car approaching.

“Young love,” Charlotte sighs, startling them both. She’s back in her old seat with the magazine. “I thought you were never gonna come up for air.”

“You can’t just sit there and watch,” Alison tells her. “It’s too creepy.”

“Sorry,” Charlotte replies. “Old habits.”

Hanna’s voice carries in from the driveway. “It’s not morning sickness, Spencer, it’s you taking every corner on two wheels.”

“You should get the door,” Charlotte suggests. “The gang’s all here.”

\-----------

Emily meets them at the door. “I’ve got Ali,” she tells them. “But you need to know -”

“No time for explanations,” Spencer declares. “We were being followed. I managed to lose them and I parked out of sight of the road, but we shouldn’t linger on the porch, just in case they’re still around somewhere.”

“Okay, but -” Emily watches helplessly as Spencer, Hanna, Aria, Caleb, and Jason rush past her into the lake house. 

“Welcome!” Charlotte says brightly to Spencer, as if she’s hosting a tea party. “Su casa es mi casa!”

“Oh my god,” Aria says. “Are we hostages?”

“She doesn’t do that anymore,” Jason assures her, as he moves forward to hug both of his sisters.

“I reserve the right to not feel good about anyone who gets ‘anymore’ attached to that sentence,” Hanna declares.

“No, this is great,” Caleb says. “We came back to help find Charlotte, and she’s here, right? Case closed!”

Hanna puts a hand on his uninjured arm. “Nice try. You know it’s not that simple anymore.”

“I know,” he sighs. “It was worth a shot, though.”

“Where’s Paige?” Emily asks Spencer. 

“We’re not talking about it,” Spencer replies. “The more important question is where have you been? Did you find some kind of fire sale on lost DiLaurentises?”

“I was kidnapped by Wren,” Alison supplies. “Charlotte and Emily rescued me.”

“Since when is she your sidekick?” Hanna asks Emily, accusingly. “I was in the hospital for one night!”

“Oh come on,” Charlotte protests. “I was the brains of the operation!”

“Also, it’s not like I had a choice,” Emily explains. “She kidnapped me when I was in the supply closet.”

“It wasn’t a kidnap! It was more of a forceful suggestion!”

“Okay, let’s not argue over semantics,” Spencer says. “Charlotte, how did you escape from New Directions? Have you been staying here this whole time?”

“Wren again,” Charlotte says. “Or at least, I think it was him. My breakfast tray showed up one morning with an envelope full of instructions under the plate.”

“What kind of instructions?” Alison asks.

“A mission,” Charlotte says. “If I agreed, I had to eat all the purple grapes in the fruit bowl, and then a few key doors would be left unlocked and unmonitored that night. When my dinner tray came, it included a key to a safety deposit box full of maps, time tables, a fake id and a ton of cash.”

“So what was the mission?” Emily asks. “What did he want you to do?”

“I was supposed to go to Georgia,” Charlotte tells them. “To kidnap Estella.”


	47. Time to Kill

“What?!” Alison exclaims. “He sent you to kidnap Estella?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Charlotte admonishes her. “I have a very strong skillset in that area. Plus, if it didn’t work, I’m an escaped lunatic - the police wouldn’t look at it too closely for a motive. He wanted me to grab her and then choose four of her friends to take later. The note said I could choose four new dolls for the Dollhouse, I just had to get pictures of their rooms and steal a few of their things to get it all ready.”

“Is she safe?” Emily asks. “Should we be calling her parents to warn them?”

“Oh she’s fine,” Charlotte breezes. “I took care of everything.”

“By kidnapping her? Or forcefully suggesting she get in the trunk of your car?” Hanna asks. 

“I thought about it,” Charlotte admits. “But I didn’t want anymore dolls. I thought maybe I could take her and then Ali and I could raise her in a little house in Montenegro…”

“Charlotte,” Alison says urgently. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything to her. Please tell me she isn’t drugged and sleeping upstairs right now.”

“Relax,” Charlotte says. “I said I thought about it, that’s all. I stalked her for a few days. Watched her ballet class through binoculars. Rigged the science fair so she’d beat out this nerdy little sleazeball in the gifted program. Threatened one of the lunch ladies to make sure she’ll always save an ice cream sandwich for her. But I didn’t have the heart to take her.”

“Why not?” Aria asks. “I mean, obviously it would be wrong, but it doesn’t seem like that used to bother you too much.”

“Her parents,” Charlotte says, her eyes tearing up a little. “They put her drawings up all over the place. Even the ugly ones.” She pulls a folded up piece of drawing paper out of her pocket and hands it to Alison. “That’s one of her unicorns. I stole it from her classroom.”

Alison unfolds the paper and stares at the blue crayon drawing wordlessly.

“And her mom,” Charlotte continues, “she drives her all over the place to all kinds of lessons, and she stays and watches when she gets invited to a party at the trampoline park and her dad lets her pick the pizza toppings every week, even when she wants something gross like sausage and pineapple. And he lets her win at Connect Four, and he’s planning to get her a puppy for Christmas and it’s - it’s wrong to take a little girl away from her parents like that. To put her in a scary place all by herself. I don’t want - she has a really good life, and I couldn’t - I don’t want her to - to turn out like me.”

Emily feels the prick of tears behind her eyelids, then hears Hanna let out a ragged sob. 

“I can’t help it,” Hanna says, hugging a startled Charlotte around the neck. “It’s the hormones.”

“It’s true,” Caleb confirms. “I have to pre-screen the People Magazine articles every week.”

Alison laughs, even though she also has tears in her eyes, and soon it turns into an awkward group hug with Charlotte in the middle.

“So what did you do?” Jason asks, his voice a little smothered by Emily’s hair. “You said it was all taken care of?”

Everyone moves back enough for Charlotte to answer. 

“I sent her and her friends to Mathland for a week.”

“Sorry,” Aria says. “What’s Mathland?”

Charlotte laughs delightedly. “It’s Disney World! They just have to count how many people are in line, subtract the number of flying elephants, add the number of spires on the castle, stuff like that.”

“She’s safe for a week, then,” Spencer says. “How long do we have left.”

“Long enough,” Charlotte replies. “Long enough for us to take care of things on this end.”

“Take care of what, exactly?” asks Jason.

“Wren Kingston and Dr. Rollins,” Charlotte explains. “We have four days left to kill them.”


	48. Bad Cop

“Okay,” Emily says. “I’m not saying they’re choir boys, but killing Wren and Dr. Rollins is not a solution.”

“How is it not a solution?” Charlotte asks, honestly curious. “They’re the bad guys, right?”

“Probably,” Alison agrees, “but so was Mona. And Shana. So were you. There’s always another layer. And I can’t say for sure if Joseph is involved or not.”

“But you’re tired of him, right? And he’s old. He’s lived a full life.”

“And he might have killed Mom,” Jason adds.

“What?!?!” Alison says. 

“We’re not sure,” Spencer says quickly. “We know they might have been involved. It’s a working theory.”

“I would have killed them,” Hanna says. “When we were in the Dollhouse? I would have done it, no questions asked.”

“We don’t know who was in the Dollhouse with us,” Emily points out.

“Actually we do,” Caleb informs her. “Kind of. Hanna and Aria spotted one of the Kahn brothers leaving the hospital with a cast past his knee after a -” he pauses to make an air quote with his good hand, “hunting accident.” He takes deep breath and looks at Spencer. “And your sister was there, Spence. I think Melissa was the one who shot me.”

“Wait,” Spencer says, “Melissa was at the Dollhouse and you’re just telling me this now?” 

“We got distracted by the pros and cons of which Kahn brother,” Aria explains. “And there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for talking in the car when you were driving like you could lose our tails by breaking the sound barrier.”

“What was Melissa doing at the Dollhouse?” Charlotte frowns. 

“And how do you know?” Spencer asks. “I thought you didn’t see who shot you.”

“I didn’t,” Caleb replies. “But there was cell service at the top of the ladder. I had my phone out in case I needed to call 911. Remember how we put that tracker on her car? My phone alerted me right after I took position. Her car was in the woods. Maybe two-tenths of a mile from where we went in.” 

“So her car was there,” Spencer says. “Couldn’t Wren have been driving it?”

“And Melissa took his to the medical practice, and left it parked there all morning?” Caleb asks. “Plus, I checked our hack on his office. He was seeing patients while we were down there.”

“He could have kept them waiting,” Alison suggests. “Or cancelled their appointments. Or faked the schedule.”

Caleb shakes his head. “He called in prescriptions for two of them, while we were fighting for our lives.”

“I still don’t think it’s conclusive,” Spencer says. “Melissa’s car doesn’t necessarily equal Melissa.”

“If it looks like a Black Swan and quacks like a Black Swan, I’m sorry to say that it probably is Melissa,” Hanna points out.

“Swans don’t quack,” Spencer says. “They honk. Like geese.”

“Why are you defending her?” Jason asks. “Weren’t you just saying that she probably ordered your dad to abduct you?”

“I feel like we missed a lot,” Emily says. “You were abducted, too?”

“Only for a minute,” Spencer says defensively. “And I think she might have been trying to protect me.”

“Ummm….she couldn’t buy you some pepper spray?” Aria asks. “Or one of those really loud whistles?”

“Time out,” Alison declares. “Melissa might be evil, and did you say one of the Kahn brothers was shot in the knee? What else did we miss?”

“Only Hanna and I watching way too many hours of Rosewood window porn,” Aria explains.

“More N.A.T. club files?” Alison asks, throwing a disgusted look at Jason.

“Even better,” Hanna replies. “Dvds of underage underwear shots and Kahn cabin sexcapades.”

“The Kahn cabin?” Emily says, looking at Alison. “Oh my god, are we on there?

\-----------  
 _  
Emily was dragging an extremely drunk Alison out of the Kahn cabin. The party was full of older guys, and they were all staring at Alison in that way that made Emily feel crazy. She wished she was old enough to drive, to have a car, to get them out of here. Noel had picked them both up, but the last Emily saw of him, he was doing shots off a cheerleader’s belly, and it didn’t seem like he’d be any help right now._

_“Where are you taking me?” Alison asked, her eyes bleary and bemused._

_“You just - you need some air, okay? And I need to figure out how we’re getting home.”_

_Alison put an arm around her shoulders, her lips against Emily’s ear. “You could call Ben,” she suggested._

_Emily frowned. She’d forgotten all about Ben. That happened a lot when Alison was around._

_“I can’t,” Emily replied. “We were supposed to go to the movies tonight.”_

_Ali nodded, and lurched toward the bushes, pulling Emily along with her._

_Emily opened her mouth to ask Alison if she was okay, if she was maybe going to be sick or something, but before she could get the words out, Alison’s mouth was on hers, tasting like vodka and orange juice and every single wish Emily’s barely been brave enough to have._

_Alison pushed her against the wall of the cabin, a little clumsily, and the image that rose up in Emily’s brain was of one of those glass beakers in chem lab, when the liquid turns purple and starts to smoke right before the whole thing explodes in your hand._

_And then Ali moaned against Emily’s mouth, grabbed Emily’s hand and moved it to her breast._

_They were interrupted by the sound of voices, an argument moving away from the party and getting louder as footsteps approached. Alison broke the kiss, but kept her body pressed against Emily, pushing them further into the bushes to avoid whoever was coming._

_“Don’t be so uptight,” Ian Thomas slurred. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”_

_“Please,” Melissa Hastings replied mockingly. “Even you’re not that stupid, Ian.”_

_“Baby, you’re so pretty when you’re mad, did you know that?”_

_Melissa didn’t answer, but there was a sloshing sound of cheap beer flung from a plastic cup hitting its target, followed by Ian’s outraged bellow._

_“I know what you’ve been up to,” Melissa hissed at him. “You’re disgusting.”_

_“Baby - “_

_“Call me ‘Baby’ again, and I will slice your balls off with my fingernails,” Melissa warned, in her most dangerous fake friendly voice._

_Emily heard Ian stomp away. She peered out of the bushes and saw Melissa stalking off down the driveway._

_“Come on,” she said to Alison, who was staring hard at Ian’s retreating back._

_They caught up to Melissa just as she was unlocking her car. She must have heard them approach, because she spun around with an angry look on her face, as if she was expecting Ian to have followed her._

_“What are you doing here?” Melissa demanded._

_“We came with Noel,” Emily explained, “but now we don’t have a ride home, and I thought -”_

_“You thought what? I’d be your taxi service?”_

_“Please,” Emily said._

_“Do you ever bring my sister to these parties?” Melissa asked suddenly, focusing on Alison._

_“Are you her keeper now?” Alison responded._

_“I should leave you here to sleep it off on the porch,” Melissa said, but she opened the passenger side door and pushed the seat up so they could climb in._

_Alison rolled her eyes and clambered in._

_“You get back there with her,” Melissa instructed Emily. “Those are leather seats. If she hurls, I’m telling your mom.”_

_Emily moved to get into the car, but Melissa stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The older girl plucked a leafy twig from the bushes out of Emily’s hair. Melissa’s eyes flickered briefly to Alison, who looked rumpled and impatient in the backseat, then back to Emily’s face. Emily blushed, and the expression on Melissa’s face changed for a split second, shifted from straight bitchiness to something different, softer. Something like pity. It was gone as quickly as it came._

_“You should make better choices, Emily,” Melissa said, slamming the car door._

_She got into the driver’s seat, and gunned the engine._

_“You’re lucky I’m so nice,” Melissa said as she peeled out of the driveway, spraying sharp bits of gravel in her wake._  
  
\----------

“No,” Hanna tells her. “Neither of you were. Apparently girl on girl groping is less hot than my stupid underwear dance.” 

“There’s no accounting for taste, I guess,” Aria offers. “Especially when you’re talking about perverts.”

“Maybe they didn’t have cameras over there?” Emily suggests. “Or maybe it didn’t last long enough to make the cut?” 

Alison squeezes Emily’s hand and gives her a half-smirk. “Please. If it lasted any longer, you would have had a heart attack.” 

“And they totally had cameras on those bushes,” Aria adds. “There was a bush scene with Eric Kahn and Cindy and Mindy that I can’t unsee.”

“Seriously,” Hanna agrees. “I wanted to bleach my eyeballs.”

“Wait,” Alison interjects, “I’m not on the dvds making out with Emily, or I’m not on them at all?”

“You’re not on them at all,” Hanna tells her. “None of you are. Just me.”

“Okay, that’s weird,” Alison says. “I mean, there were times I was sure someone was filming us. All of us.” She turns to Jason. “They were, weren’t they?”

Her brother nods. “Probably,” he tells Alison. “I caught Ian in your room once, he was taping all of you in Spencer’s bedroom.”

“So did you steal those files or something?” Hanna asks him. 

Jason shakes his head. “I wish. I wouldn’t have known what to take.”

“Maybe he was saving them for his private collection,” Spencer suggests.

“Eeeew,” Aria says. “Jason, seriously - you couldn’t have done anything to stop them?”

“Nothing I tried worked,” Jason says. 

“What did you try?” Hanna snaps. “A sternly worded letter?”

“I got pulled over one night,” Jason says. “And I was so messed up, I told the cop everything. Ian and Garrett and Eric, the videos, everything. Afterwards, I was so relieved. I thought it would be over.”

“So what happened?” Aria asks. “Why didn’t they all end up in jail?”

“The cop,” Jason says. “It was Darren Wilden.”


	49. Villains, Incorporated

“Wilden? Let me guess,” Spencer says. “He wasn’t interested in making arrests. He was interested in getting in on the action?”

“He became, like, their silent partner,” Jason confirms.

“He was all over the scene at the Kahn cabin,” Charlotte muses. “He pulled Eric over in that stolen car just to get at the flash drive in his pocket.”

“What was on it?” Alison asks. “Do you know?”

“A sex tape,” Charlotte shrugs. “One Wilden had a real hard on for. No pun intended.”

“Jesus,” Aria exclaims. “Those pornos in his apartment! They were clues! I was literally holding them in my hands! Until I set them down cause they were sticky and gross.” 

“After that, I gave up on the cops,” Jason continues. “And when Ian died, I hoped it died with him. But the first time I was working through the steps in AA, I went looking for Carissimi Entertainment. I figured they were who Ian was working for. I found the Carissimi Group and made an appointment with Rhys Matthews. I gave him a list of every girl I recognized in those videos. I told him that if his company had anything to do with those dvds, he needed to make things right with them.”

“Based on what? Your good looks and charm?” Alison asks.

“He seemed really eager to help at first,” Jason said. “He said they were a big company, he wasn’t personally aware of everything the entertainment division was producing, he’d look into what they could do to reach out to the young women in question. But then a few days later, I got dropped down an elevator shaft, so I don’t think he was really sincere.” 

“Sincere enough to offer me a scholarship of my porn royalties, though.” Hanna says. “God, that is so much worse than I thought. Fuck every single member of the Carissimi Group.”

“Wait,” Emily says turning to Charlotte. “Isn’t Carissimi your company?”

“My company?” Charlotte chuckles. “When did I have time to start a company? In between U Penn and sneaking out of Radley and working at that boutique and stalking all of you?”

“Don’t act like you can’t multitask,” Alison says. 

“And all of your data went through their servers,” Spencer says.

“Duh,” Charlotte responds. “I worked for them. They provided me with all my high tech spy gear. I just had to keep records of what I was doing to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Alison asks. “If you were following orders, you could have gotten a way better deal from the D.A.”

“And why didn’t you tell us about Sara being Bethany?” Spencer adds.

“I said what my boss wanted me to say,” Charlotte shrugs. “Isn’t that part of having a job?”

“Who was your boss?” Aria asks. “Was it Wren?”

“No,” Charlotte says. “I mean, I’m pretty sure Wren was working for them, too. He helped me get in and out of Radley all the time. Which, maybe was for my pretty blue eyes, but probably not.”

“So was it Matthews?” Jason asks.

“No,” Charlotte says. “Matthews is way higher up on the food chain. I worked with him directly on a few projects, but mostly my orders came from Ezra Fitz.”

“Ezra?” Alison says, horrified. “Did he know it was all part of some big experiment?”

“No,” Charlotte says. “I didn’t even know that until we got to the Dollhouse. I think he probably thought we were working on his book.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Caleb says. “Why would some company be paying two people to spy on Alison’s friends for the sake of his crappy book?”

“Well, he’s a little naive,” Charlotte replies. “He thought it was all part of his advance.”

“His advance?” Spencer says. “You mean Carissimi was his publisher?”

“Like Jason said, it’s a big company. They do all kinds of things,” Charlotte explains. “Pharmaceuticals. Technology. Construction and development. Their publishing division was mostly psychology textbooks and self-help, but I guess Ezra had connections.”

“So who the fuck are these people?” Spencer asks. “Villains, Incorporated? Bad Guys R Us?”

“And why do they keep coming after us?” Hanna asks.

“Charlotte, this is really important, okay? Ezra had connections, or has connections?” Aria asks, sounding, Emily notices, weirdly frightened. 

“Has,” Charlotte says. “He’s been visiting me at New Directions. They published his last two books, and now he’s working on a third one.”

“They published ‘Pretty Little Liars’. You’re 100% sure?” Aria asks.

“I am,” Charlotte says. “But you’re acting really hung up on this, seeing as how you’re supposed to be so over him.” 

Aria clasps both hands over her mouth as if she’s going to be sick. “Then I have to tell you guys something. Ezra didn’t write that book. My dad did.”


	50. Burn the Curtain Down

“Your dad?” Spencer says, so loudly that Aria recoils. “Your dad wrote the book that Tanner keeps quoting at us? The one that named us the Liars to the entire world? Your dad did that?”

“My mom made us all go to family therapy,” Aria says, sounding shell shocked. “That whole summer before we left for college.”

“I remember,” Alison says. “You guys went like three or four times a week.”

“I was so relieved,” Aria confesses. “I thought it was all over. No more secrets. It was like, the words were just spewing out of me so fast, I could finally say whatever was on my mind, whatever I was feeling, with no filter. I told them everything. _Everything._ How we blinded Jenna, how long we knew Alison was alive, how I killed Shana when I knocked her off that stage.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Every time, we would come home and my dad would lock himself in the study. I thought - I thought he was having a hard time dealing with it. But really he was writing it all down. He told me later, it was his was his way of processing.”

Hanna and Charlotte both snort.

“When did you find out?” Jason asks.

“The end of the summer. He asked me to read it over. He was so proud.”

“What did you do?” Emily asks.

“I was horrified! I begged him to burn it! Those secrets, they weren’t his! They weren’t even all mine! They belonged to all of us, and I trusted him, and he acted like he was doing this big heroic thing, he was going to show the world how brave we were! And I told him to think about the publicity, how the press would go crazy if they knew one of our dads was writing a tell all book. So he offered to give me credit as a co-author. He just--he couldn’t understand why it was wrong.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Alison asks. “Honestly, I had so much dirt on Byron, I could have blackmailed him into next year.”

“Because I broke the first rule of being a liar,” Aria says, anguished. “I told the truth, the whole truth, about all of us. To the absolute wrong person.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Caleb says. “You were trying to do the right thing for yourself. You were trying to heal the best way you knew how.”

“We fought about it every day the week before I left for Savannah,” Aria continues. “I told him I’d never speak to him again. I threatened to have Mrs. Hastings sue him. I said I’d tell the head of his department about Meredith. And he would just stand there in the middle of the kitchen, looking so baffled. With this hangdog look on his face, like I was the one hurting him.”

Charlotte pops a handful of M&Ms into her mouth, as if she’s watching a particularly gripping movie. “So what happened? How did Ezra Fitz worm his way into the middle of it?”

“I went to Savannah,” Aria says. “But by the end of the first semester, I knew it wasn’t for me. My classes were full of pretentious art snobs, who were all drooling over one another and smashing rose petals with hammers and calling it performance art. One day, I just kind of stopped going to classes. I was lonely and depressed. I cashed all my student loan checks and booked a ticket to Greece. I told my parents it was a study abroad trip.”

“Wait,” Emily says, slowly. “So there was no study abroad trip? To Croatia or Istanbul or Japan?”

“No,” Aria sighs. “My dad bought a plane ticket to surprise me when I said I was studying drama in London. He’s a professor, it didn’t take him long to figure out what I’d been doing once he got there. Or maybe he knew already, I really don’t know. I thought he was going to tell my mom and they’d drag me home and I’d have to spend the next year going to Hollis or Rosewood Community College or something. But instead, he brought up the book again.”

“He offered me a compromise. He’d use a pen name. He’d talk to Ezra, see if he could get him to play along and pretend to be the author for a small share of the royalties. He’d give me half of the advance he’d been offered so I could keep, as he put it, bumming around. And he wouldn’t tell my mom I’d dropped out of school. What else could I do? I said yes.”

“You dropped out of college?” Spencer says. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You dropped Paige’s pants for three years and didn’t tell me, so I think that makes us even,” Aria replies. Then she puts her hand to her mouth again at the pained look on Spencer’s face. “I’m sorry!” she says. “It just slipped out.”

“It’s okay,” Spencer says. “Point taken.”

“Well, I think it’s cool,” Jason says. “Not what your dad did, obviously. But leaving school if it wasn’t right for you. Look at all the places you got to go. You’ve never been afraid of doing your own thing.” 

“Thanks,” Aria says, smiling for the first time since she started her story. “But what if me doing my own thing put my dad in bed with the Evil Empire?”

“No way,” Alison retorts. “He crawled under those covers all by himself. But let’s focus here. We know that Carissimi is connected to the N.A.T. club dvds. And Charlotte, you said they were part of the Dollhouse stuff, too?”

“They built it,” Charlotte agrees. “And funded it.”

“They funded the experiment,” Spencer clarifies. 

“As far as I know,” Charlotte says. “That was a Rhys project. I think he was getting orders from his boss about it, but I can’t be sure.”

“Who is his boss?” Hanna asks. “Is it like the Wizard of Oz where he never gets to see who’s behind the curtain?”

“I have no idea,” Charlotte explains. “It’s all hush hush. They talk on the phone once a week. I don’t know if they’ve ever met in person.”

“Okay,” Spencer says. “We can tie Wren to the voyeur videos, thanks to the flash drive that Garrett gave to Jenna. If we can find anything linking Carissimi to the Dollhouse -”

“And Carissimi is linked to the videos, and therefore to Wren, then Carissimi ties Wren to the Dollhouse,” Alison finishes.

“That’s all well and good,” Hanna opines. “But we shouldn’t be stopping at Wren and Rollins and Melissa anymore. If it’s a whole company that’s been going after us, we need to bring the whole thing down.”

“We need to find out who they are, first,” Alison says.

“We might just have a chance,” Charlotte suggests. “I’m not on the payroll anymore, but I’ve been keeping tabs on what they’re up to. They’re donating a bunch of money to the hospital building fund. They bought the naming rights for the new psychiatric wing, and they’re hosting a huge charity ball fundraiser at their corporate headquarters tomorrow night.”

“What kind of ball?” Emily asks.

“Costumes and masks,” Charlotte replies.

“This town really needs to think of a less murdery theme,” Hanna complains. “Come on, people. Buy a freaking pinata or something.”

“Can we get in?” Spencer asks.

“With the right sizable donation,” Charlotte confirms.

“Done,” Jason promises.

“So we infiltrate,” Caleb nods.

“We find out everyone who’s working for them,” Hanna agrees.

“And what they’re working on,” Emily adds.

“And what they want with us,” Aria says.

“We find out who’s behind the curtain,” Spencer declares.

“Fuck that,” says Alison. “We burn the curtain down.”


	51. Paper Faces on Parade

Alison frowns as she watches Emily pull on a pair of thigh high red boots. 

“What’s the matter?” Emily asks. “Don’t you like them?”

“I like them,” Alison says, shortly. “Everyone is going to like them. You look like a freaking Amazon queen.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Emily tells her. “Wonder Woman is an Amazon queen. Or a princess, anyway. And you heard Spencer, we need to be highly visible.”

Alison cocks an eyebrow and purses her lips as she stares at Emily’s costume. It looks like a high cut skin tight strapless bathing suit, with a gold eagle breast plate that accentuates her cleavage. Emily’s hair is down, and Hanna used some kind of product on it earlier to give it more volume, which also makes it look all bouncy and soft. Her arms and shoulders are bare, and her legs seem to go on for miles before they even get to the boots.

“Well,” Alison says grumpily, “You’re flashing a lot of highly visible skin.”

Emily looks at Alison, who has her hair pinned up underneath a shoulder length red wig, and is scowling at the mirror as she adjusts her black bow tie. She stands behind Ali and unties, the re-ties the knot. “I have a secret,” she says, kissing the back of Ali’s neck. “You’re incredibly cute when you’re jealous.”

Alison arches her back into Emily, but doesn’t give up her pout. “I’m not jealous,” she huffs, half-heartedly. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Emily teases, swatting Alison with the shiny golden rope she has pinned to her waist. “I have a Lasso of Truth.”

Alison makes a disgusted noise. “You would be excited about that. Fine. Just because I have to sneak in as a stupid cater waiter -- meanwhile, you’re looking all sexy in the streets and I don’t even get to drag you off to a dark corner or else I might blow my cover. I hate this plan.”

“The plan is fine,” Emily says, turning Alison’s head so she can kiss her properly. “And we don’t need any dark corners. We can come back here later and I’ll let you take the boots off.”

“Maybe,” Alison says, against Emily’s mouth. “Or maybe I’ll have you leave them on.”

When they break apart a few minutes later, Alison’s mood seems to have improved.

“Help me with my mask?” Emily asks, slipping a glittery navy blue mask over her head and holding it in place over her nose and eyes. Alison ties it tight, but not too tight, around Emily’s head, then affixes a sparkly tiara carefully to Emily’s hair.

“You look completely amazing,” she admits.

Emily smiles as she snaps on her silver metal wrist cuffs. “Comm check,” she says into the one on her left wrist. “Hanna, can you hear me?” 

A burst of high pitched giggles is blasted into her earpiece, before Mona’s voice cuts in. “Roger that, Emily. We are receiving you,” she responds, all business. Then she starts giggling, too. “Have you _seen_ what Aria picked out for Jason?” she squeals. “He is going to _die_!”

“I hope she doesn’t mean that literally,” Alison muses. “This is a Rosewood party, you never can tell.”

“He must really like her,” Emily responds. 

“He’s a boy,” Alison explains. “He has no idea what it means to let Aria pick his outfit.”

“I’m betting she makes him be a noir Peter Pan. In tights.”

“Tights would be good,” Alison agrees. “Or maybe lederhosen.”

\--------

“Stand still,” Hanna scolds Caleb. “This has to be just right.”

“You’re pinning a stuffed parrot to my shoulder,” Caleb points out. “There’s nothing right about that.” 

“The bird is your radio,” Mona reminds him. 

“It’s cute,” Charlotte says, stroking its fake feathers. “You should name it Tippi.”

Caleb shakes his head.

“You make a very handsome pirate,” Hanna tells him, adjusting the plastic cutlass on his belt and attaching a fake hook to the part of his cast sticking out of the sling. “Now let me help you with the mask.” She pulls a rubber V for Vendetta Guy Fawkes mask out of her bag and pulls it fully over Caleb’s face “Perfect,” she says, setting a tricorner hat on his head.

Spencer walks in, her dress so large it almost doesn’t fit through the narrow doorway. 

“Are you that queen who got her head chopped off again?” Hanna asks, curiously.

“I was Mary, Queen of Scots before. Now I’m Anne Boleyn.”

“Wasn’t she also a queen, though?” Aria asks. 

“And also beheaded,” Charlotte adds. 

“So basically the same costume,” Hanna confirms.

“They’re totally different,’ Spencer argues, putting a hand to her elaborately braided and pinned hair. “I stayed up all night making this head piece.”

Mona gives her an appraising glance, then takes a bobby pin and sticks it inside Spencer’s left sleeve. “You never know,” she says. 

“Does it do anything special?” Spencer asks. “If I twist it and then throw it on the ground, will it turn into a flash bomb?”

“Noooo,” Mona drawls, as if Spencer is being weird. “It’s to hold your hair back.” She smiles brightly. “But if you want a flash bomb, I might have one in my purse.” She starts to rummage through her bag. “I definitely have gum,” she offers. “And - ooooh, breath mints!”

“Do they explode?” Aria asks.

“No, silly!” Mona says, giving her a narrow eyed look. “Although that does remind me, I do have a little something for my beautiful bestie!”

“For me?” Hanna exclaims, placing a hand delightedly over her breast bone.

“Duh!” Mona answers, smiling her cat-like smile. She produces a long rectangular box and hands it to Hanna. “True friends are like good jewelry - gorgeous, valuable, and always in style.”

“Audrey Hepburn?” Spencer says.

“Nicole Richie,” Hanna corrects her, opening the lid. “Mona! Are these moonstones?”

“You’re Aphrodite,” Mona says, taking the elaborate moonstone necklace and clasping it around Hanna’s neck. “You need accessories worthy of a goddess.”

“Do those explode?” Aria asks.

Mona makes an exasperated noise in her throat. “Do you honestly think I would trust you guys with explosives? You’d blow us all up in two seconds. No offense!” 

“Earrings, too?” Hanna squeals, finding them at the edge of the jewelry box. 

“I know, I know, I’m the vodka in your orange juice. When you don’t have Baby H in the oven,” Mona says.

“You look completely hot-mazing, by the way,” Hanna tells her. “If there are any non-evil rich guys there tonight, you are totally gonna have your pick.” 

Mona smiles and sashays a bit in her Elektra costume, showing off her red leather bustier a diamond shape cut out to show off her stomach. The silk swaths of her barely there skirt trail after her as she shows off her own pair of dark red boots. She has a red silk headband tied around her head, and two long sai knives disguised as a hair ornament.

“Where’s Jason?” Spencer asks.

“Yes,” Mona says to Aria. “When is that hunky monkey date of yours getting here?”

“He had to run home to get his contacts,” Aria says. “He should be back any minute.”

“And just wait until he sees you,” Alison says, walking into the room holding Emily’s hand. “All dressed up like a - a raven? A dead raven? On acid?”

“A Valkyrie?” Emily guesses, looking at Aria’s strategically ripped black baby doll dress, shimmery black tights, black elbow gloves and enormous black feathery wings.

“What?” Aria says, seeing the look on her face. “Spencer said I needed to be highly visible.”

“A highly visible voodoo fairy?” Spencer asks. 

Aria looks at her reflection in the mirror, applying a coat of bright red lipstick. “I’m a neo noir gothic angel,” she explains, pulling a sparkly feathered mask over her eyes and nose.

“Is that a thing?” Hanna asks.

“It is now,” Aria shrugs, putting in two outsized feather boa strand earrings that hang down to her elbows. 

“I like it,” Mona announces. “It’s like Victoria’s Secret post-apocalypse.”

“Wow,” Jason says, coming in from outside. “You look really nice.” He smiles nervously and awkwardly hands her a black wrist corsage with white roses. “They didn’t have any that were were with feathers.” 

Ali gives Emily a look, and Emily elbows Charlotte who is muttering under her breath about Jason’s evident improvement in the dating arena now that he’s clean.

“Thank you,” Aria says, smiling happily and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I have a little something for you, too.” She produces a black plastic bag. “Your costume!”

“Great,” Jason replies with a grin. “I’ll go change right now.”

He takes the bag into the bathroom as the rest of the girls make final adjustments to their costumes and straighten their masks, Emily helping Spencer tie on a white full face mask with gold inlay that disguises her features completely.

“Aria?” Jason’s voice says, sounding muffled from behind the door. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“The rest of what?” Aria asks, innocently.

“My costume.”

“It’s all there!” Aria breezes. “Come on out, I want to see how you look!”

Jason opens the door, looking dumbfounded in a black dime store Zorro mask, a tiny leopard print loincloth, and sandals. His appearance is met with general laughter and a few wolf whistles from Charlotte and Mona. 

“You’re Tarzan,” Aria explains, eyeing his abs. “We have to be highly visible, remember?”

“I was thinking formal wear,” he protests. “This is like, underwear.”

“Do not tell me you have a problem with strangers staring at _you_ in your underwear,” Hanna says with a tone that dares him to say another word.

Jason looks down and shuffles his feet. “I guess you’re right. So...um, that means I’m ready.”

Everyone starts moving outside towards their cars, but Jason hangs back waiting for Aria to finish primping her wings in the full length mirror.

“I look ridiculous,” he mutters to Alison as she and Emily walk by.

Ali pats him on the shoulder. “You’re going after a girl who’s way too good for you, Big Brother. Trust me, you need to play to your strengths.” 

“What does that mean?” Jason whispers.

“It means,” Emily translates, “flash those abs as much as you can.”


	52. The Devil's Waltz

“You know it’s a fancy party when even the goons are in costume,” Spencer observes as they approach the security checkpoint at the entrance to the reception area. A dark haired guard in a mask, a bicorn hat, and a long blue coat is checking names against a list, and taking pictures of the party goers. “Mark anyone we recognize,” she instructs her friends, “Name and costume.”

“DiLaurentis,” Jason says. “Party of seven.” He’s standing up very straight, trying to look as serious and impressive as possible while also wearing the loincloth. Emily wonders if Alison and Charlotte have made it into the building yet, then realizes of course they have - those two could probably break into the Pentagon in ten minutes or less.

“Please remove your masks for the camera,” the guard requests.

“Mark one,” Hanna says in a low voice, nodding towards him as Jason and Aria take off their masks to pose.

“Detective Holbrook,” she says sweetly, as she and Caleb step forward. “I didn’t know you worked here. Are you protecting the party from shoplifters?” She pulls Caleb’s mask and hat off to find her husband sweaty and frowning underneath. 

“Hanna!” Holbrook says, sounding so happy to see her that Caleb’s frown deepens as he snaps their picture. “And this must be your husband! Congratulations, man.” He makes a move to shake Caleb’s hand, then has to switch to his left hand when he sees the cast and sling. He eventually settles for an one sided fist bump.

“Why do we have to take off our masks?” Spencer asks, in her most Veronica-esque tone of voice. “It’s a masquerade, isn’t it?”

“Security precautions,” he explains. “You can put them right back on again. The Powers the Be just want to make sure they know who’s milling around in their building. Worried about corporate espionage or escaped mental patients, I guess.”

“Escaped mental patients?” Emily asks, posing for a maskless photo with Mona. 

“It’s the strangest thing,” Holbrook says. “There’s another $50,000 reward for anyone with information on the whereabouts of Alison DiLaurentis.”

“We’re not hiding her under our skirts,” Spencer tells him, as he photographs her.

“With you ladies, nothing would surprise me,” Holbrook grins. 

A guard dressed like a Roman centurion comes over and whispers something in Holbrook’s ear. Holbrook stiffens his spine to the point that he looks almost like he’s standing at attention. 

“Sorry for the delay,” he says to Jason as he waves them all through. “Enjoy your evening, Sir.”

“He’s awfully friendly now,” Caleb observes to Hanna. “Considering he spent months trying to put you and your mom in jail.”

“I’ve always hated that guy,” Emily tells Spencer. “I don’t know what Ali saw in him.”

“A cleft chin and the willingness to doctor polygraphs, probably.”

“Not Holbrook,” Emily says. “The centurion. Lorenzo Calderon.”

“The devil,” Mona says.

“Okay, he wound up being a jerk,” Spencer admits. “But I still think that’s a little harsh.”

“No,” Hanna clarifies, gesturing towards a couple dancing the rumba across the room, the man wearing a red mask with horns and a pointy beard, sweeping a tiny waisted Maleficent into an impromptu dip. “The devil dancing with your sister.”

Mona pulls a tube of lipstick out of her cleavage and starts speaking into it. “We have eyes on Wren Kingston. Initiate phase one.”

The orchestra pauses as the rumba ends, and they watch a stiffly moving vampire with a frilly shirt, high collar, and top hat pull Melissa to the edge of the dance floor. The devil heads over to the bar and orders a vodka soda.

Spencer approaches him from behind. “Is that for me?”

“It is now,” Wren says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes beneath his mask as he hands her the drink. “Ah, Spencer. You make a smashing Anne Boleyn.”

Spencer downs the entire glass in one gulp. “Shall I die without justice?”

Wren bows gallantly, his horns grazing Spencer’s neck. “The poorest subject the king has, has justice.” 

“And who is your king?” Spencer asks him. “Whose orders do you follow, Wren?”

“Who does the devil serve?” Wren responds, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her to the dance floor as the orchestra strikes up again. Spencer catches Mona’s eye as she allows Wren to lead her gracefully into the waltz. She feels other eyes on them as well, notices Melissa and the vampire glaring, and a Cyrano de Bergerac keeping tabs on them as he circles the room. 

“Surely you remember your Milton,” Wren continues. “Don’t you find it’s better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven?”

\-----

“All eyes are on Spencer,” Mona confirms to her lipstick. “Deploy alpha sequence.”

Caleb uses his free hand to pull his hat and mask off, and kisses Hanna deeply. “It’s hot in here,” he says, pulling the mask back down. “Let me take your fur.” He plucks the white fur stole from Hanna’s shoulders and heads to the coat room.

\-----

The door of the building’s security surveillance station swings open. Two startled looking, non-costumed, armed guards stare as Alison in her catering uniform enters the room.

“Sorry,” she says, acting confused. “I thought this was the bathroom?”

“What are you doing on this floor?” the first guard asks. “Why wasn’t that door locked?”

Alison looks at him, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. “Please,” she says. “It’s my first day. I must’ve gotten turned around. But my break is only five minutes. If you could just point me in the right direction?”

He stands up, one hand on his holster, before apparently deciding she’s harmless. He moves towards the door to point her in the right direction. The moment his back is turned, Alison casually pulls a tranquilizer dart from her pocket and jams it into his coworkers neck. The first guard manages to open the door about three inches before Charlotte fires a tranquilizer gun directly against his neck. His body thuds loudly to the floor, as Alison speaks into her bowtie. “Greenlight,” she says, “Camera station secure. Beta rendezvous in seven.”

\-------

A pirate in a Guy Fawkes mask with a bird on his shoulder and a cast on his arm returns to Hanna’s side.

\--------

“I love Milton,” Spencer tells Wren. “The mind is its own place -”

“And in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven,” Wren finishes. “It’s a pity you didn’t make it into Oxford, any woman who can discuss literature while dancing so elegantly could have landed a Viscount. Or, a Viscountess, if you’d prefer.”

“Is this what you do when you dance with my sister?” Spencer asks. “Does Melissa always follow your lead?”

“We mustn’t talk about your sister,” Wren declares. “Though, I do sometimes wonder,” he says, pulling Spener’s body tightly against him. “Do you ever lie awake in the night and imagine a Black Swan taking off her mask, only to find your own face underneath?”

“Maybe I do,” Spencer replies, as she follows him through a perfectly executed underarm turn. “Maybe I was just a maid in the forest until you came into our lives.”

Wren laughs. “You and your friends were never innocent little maids.” He eyes Aria and Jason, dancing nearby, other dancers hastening to get out of the way of Aria’s wings. “It’s nice to see so many of them here tonight. You’re like a sack full of kittens, you know? So full of life, such endless hijinks, such perfect tiny necks you could snap with one hand.”

Spencer runs her fingers along his neck, under the edge of his mask. “You’re forgetting something about kittens.” She scratches him suddenly, digging her nails in hard enough to draw blood. “We have claws.” 

He barely reacts, keeping his pivot and sidestep in time to the music. “You’re right, of course. I deserve to be scratched.”

“I know you do. I know things about you. Things Melissa is too skittish to believe. I’ve lived inside one of your designs.” The lighting in their part of the dance floor is low, and Wren’s mask is cloaked in shadow, but Spencer can see something in his eyes - a small twinkle of pleasure that shows how much he’s enjoying this. 

“I want to know more,” Spencer says, pressing against him. “Who you are underneath. Where you’re from. Why you chose us.”

“How does a man like me become a man like me?”

“Tell me,” Spencer says. 

“I’ve tried to, Spencer. Many times. Shall we say - I was born to it.”

Spencer hears the music cascading towards its final movement, knows she only has a few moments left.

“You can drop the accent,” she says. “Let me hear you whisper your real name, in your real voice. Just once.” 

He leans forward, his pointy beard tickling her ear. “I am everyone,” he says, in his usual accent. “And no one,” he adds, in a chillingly normal American voice.

Spencer stops dancing and looks into his eyes. She peels up the bottom of his mask and kisses him, forcefully.

“Let me be the Black Swan,” she says. “Trust me. Trade me for Melissa.”


	53. The King of Swords

Before Wren can say a word, before he can do anything but stand there stunned, his arms still wrapped around Spencer’s waist as she gazes hard at him expecting an answer, Melissa Hastings is stalking towards them, a picture of fury in a billowing black cape and tall horns. She has a hand raised as if to slap one of them, maybe both of them, but Emily gets there a split second before she does.

“Spencer, what are you doing? He’s evil!” Emily says, pulling her deftly out of Melissa’s way.

“Like that’s ever stopped you from kissing someone?” Spencer retorts. 

Emily can see Melissa speaking angrily to Wren, but both their eyes and ears seem to be keeping close track of Spencer.

“I know you miss Paige, but trying to be bedfellows with your sister’s psychopathic boyfriend is not the answer! Did one of those bobby pins pierce your brain or something? ”

“Do not talk about Paige!” Spencer growls. “And you do not get to talk about my costume, either. At least I have one! You’re basically wearing your legs, and flashing them around like they’re some kind of bat signal for Alison!”

“Maybe we would have found her by now, if you’d spent today focusing on clues instead of crafting a historically accurate head piece.”

“She was a queen! This is her crown!” 

“Well it looks like you made it out of popsicle sticks! No wonder they chopped off her head if they had to look at that thing every day.”

Spencer moves closer to Emily, reaches up, and knocks her tiara to the ground.

“You did that on purpose!” Emily cries, grabbing the sleeve of Spencer’s gown so hard that she hears the fabric tear.

“Too much,” Mona’s voice says in her earpiece. Emily sees Lorenzo and another security goon dressed as a crusader approaching, but Aria and Jason cut them off. 

Jason pulls Spencer away from Emily as Aria steps in front of Emily. “Guys! What are you doing? This is no time to be fighting!” She examines the tear in Spencer’s sleeve. “Come on, Spence, let’s see what we can do about this in the bathroom.”

The security guys seem to have melted away into the crowd as Mona orders, “Deploy beta sequence,” from her position next to Hanna and her pirate. “Cameras, eyes on Wren.”

As Spencer and Aria hurry towards the bathroom, the vampire steps into their path. “Not so fast,” Dr. Rollins says, baring his fangs. “I think someone wants a word with you.”

Spencer turns to see Melissa sweeping up behind them. “Have you gone crazy?” Melissa asks. “Are you out of your mind?” She stabs a finger in Spencer’s chest. “I’ve warned you for the last time, little sister. If you want to play with dynamite, don’t act surprised when things explode!” 

She takes Rollins’ arm and starts to walk away, before casting a final glance over her shoulder. “Also,” she says, raising her eyebrows in a way that makes her horns move up as well, “that dress makes you look fat.”

\------------

“Did it work?” Spencer asks, disrobing quickly as Aria blocks the door of the bathroom.

“If his boss is here, I’m sure he’s going to want to speak to him,” Mona confirms over the radio.

“He’s back with Rollins and Melissa right now,” Hanna’s voice reports.

“How did you recognize Melissa so fast?” Emily asks.

“Please,” Hanna says. “A super scary size two with those horns?”

“I’ve got Rhys Matthews,” Charlotte reports from the camera room. “He’s the marionette. He’s heading their way.”

“Nope,” Mona says with a shake of her head. “Not him. He stopped to talk to Jason. Or Jason’s abs” 

“Aria, did you put Jason in that loincloth so we could tell him and Rhys apart?” Hanna asks, curiously. “Because if so, good thinking.”

“We have a new player,” Charlotte says. “They’re heading towards the knight in the corner.”

“Is he a knight?” Emily asks. The man in question is tall, wearing a dark blue gold trimmed mantle. A full Venetian carnivale mask covers his entire face and spires upward in a kind of crown. An image of an upside down sword is woven into his doublet, a match for the sword hanging at his waist. “He looks more like a king.”

“He is,” Mona agrees. “He’s the King of Swords.” 

“Seriously?” Aria exclaims. “We can’t take out an APB on a tarot card. Who is he really?”

“No record,” Charlotte says. “Either he snuck in, or he owns the place.”

“Hanna,” Mona says, “time to bust a move, girly girl. I want ears on him, please. And Aria, if you’re done oogling Spencer, I’d love to know what Me Tarzan, You Rhys are chatting about.”

“I’m not oogling,” Aria huffs. “Her dress is complicated!”

“You were oogling a little,” says Jenna Marshall in a throaty voice as she pulls the Anne Boleyn mask on, laying a hand on Aria’s elbow as she leads her back out to the party. 

\-----------

“Are you wearing heels?” Hanna asks, as she and the pirate try to casually fake their way through a foxtrot in order to get near the King of Swords.

“It’s not my fault Caleb’s freakishly tall.”

“Well don’t move your stomach like that. He has broken ribs.”

“You know you only dance with me when you’re scheming. If you weren’t so gorgeous, I’d start to take it personally,” Lucas says.

“You’re lucky I dance with you at all. Especially after you conspired to taze me.”

“And yet, I was the one who wound up convulsing on the floor.”

“You mess with the bull -”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, fondly. “Did Caleb tell you he promised to name the baby after me if it worked?”

Hanna snorts. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Lucasette,” he suggests. “You could tell people it’s French.”

\--------

Upstairs, Charlotte wheels a temporarily paralyzed guard, handcuffed to an office chair, towards the exterior of the main control room. Caleb stands outside the door, trying to work a black box device to crack the access code with only one hand. The code blinks at the number 1218, and prompts for handprint clearance.

Spencer jogs up in time to lift the guard’s uncuffed hand and place it on the touch pad. 

The door slides open. They’re in.

\----------

“Closer,” Hanna tells Lucas, pulling him as close as possible to where Wren, Melissa, and Rollins are gathered around the King of Swords.

“I agree,” Rollins is saying. “The risk increases every day.”

“We’re handling it,” Wren assures him. 

“I don’t think that’s true anymore,” Melissa interjects. 

“Let me assure you, the situation is completely under control,” Wren replies soothingly.

“The stitches half an inch from my right kidney disagree,” Rollins says, heatedly. “And now that you’ve lost track of my wife _and_ her charming sister, it’s only a matter of time until they force our hand.”

“I agree there are more variables in play,” Wren tells him. “But we’ve put far too many resources into this work to abandon it now.”

“As if you’ve ever cared about the research,” Rollins chides him. “As long as you had a good supply of young girls in flower cycling through the doors of the mental hospitals. Your incompetence is deeply disappointing.”

“My incompetence?” Wren says. “I could have gone anywhere. Done anything. I came here on your say so. Because you needed my help!”

“Boys,” Melissa says calmly. “This is hardly the time.” She gives Hanna an extremely fake wave and smile.

The King of Swords says nothing, but pats Melissa on the back before he walks away. He heads directly for Hanna and Lucas, knocking a shoulder against Hanna hard. Instead of worrying about catching her balance, Hanna makes a grab for his mask. Her fingers slide off the cool plaster as he strides away with a laugh, and Lucas barely manages to catch Hanna before she topples over.

“Who was that?” Lucas asks.

“I’m not sure,” Hanna replies. “But he might just be the biggest baddest bitch of all.”


	54. Stranger than I Dreamt It

“Take your hand off my ass,” Emily hisses. “Spencer and I were just fighting.”

“And now you’re making up,” Jenna says smugly. “I’m risking my life to help you, here.”

“It’s a ballroom,” Emily replies. “Not the Hunger Games.”

“Do I really need to count how many times people have almost died at parties in this town?” Jenna chuckles. “You owe me a dance, at least.”

\--------

Hanna stands next to Aria, as they watch Jason talking to a masked Robin Hood in line for the bar.

“This is what happens when you bring a DiLaurentis to the sketchy people’s social event of the year,” Hanna opines. “Don’t you think it’s weird that he knows people here?”

“We know people here,” Aria points out.

“From all the times they’ve tried to kill us,” Hanna protests. 

“Is this a crusade with you?” Aria asks. “Friends don’t let friends date DiLaurentises?”

“You’re my best friend,” Hanna says. “I’m only looking out for you! We _know_ Jason’s been involved in some seriously shady stuff. And between his blackouts and his bad memory, he probably doesn’t even know the worst of it. Or pretends not to, anyway.”

“Are you suggesting he founded the Carissimi Group during a drunken fugue state? Or that he did it stone cold sober and is pretending not to remember?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I just think you should be careful.”

“Come on, Hanna. He’s half-Spencer, half-Alison. So he seems super suspicious, but has a good heart. It’s in his DNA.”

“He’s also half-Charlotte, half-Melissa. He could still turn out to be a crazy stalker who wants to cut off your perfect ear and fry it up for dinner, that’s all I’m saying.”

Jason returns a moment later, carrying a water for Hanna, a club soda for himself, and a glass of champagne for Aria. Mona and Lucas fly past, her leading them through an espionage Cha-Cha as they scour the room for any sign of the King of Swords. Lucas is moving awkwardly, his sight line impeded by the bird on his shoulder, as he tries not to step on her feet.

“He’s getting better,” Hanna admits. “That does look a lot like Caleb’s dancing.”

“Who were you talking to?” Aria asks Jason.

“Just a guy I run into sometimes at meetings. He saw me in line for the bar and wanted to check in.”

“Does he work here?” Hanna asks. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Dean. He just landed a job with the new psychiatric wing’s substance abuse treatment center.”

\------

Emily and Jenna are also on the dance floor.

“Everyone is staring at us,” Emily says.

“Do you think it’s because we’re two women, or because you’re such a good dancer?”

“Either way. Or they’re evil and planning to kidnap us later.” Emily puts a hand on Jenna’s shoulder to speak into her wrist gauntlet. “Can I get ids on the couple staring at us from the northwest corner? And the Neptune with the Santa Claus beard, dancing with Melissafent?”

“She’s getting all handsy with him, too,” Jenna observes. “Poor girl, he’s not even paying attention. I can’t tell if he’s staring harder at you or at me.”

\-------

Alison sits at the chair in the security surveillance room directing the cameras to better scan the crowd. 

“There’s no Neptune listed,” she says. “Holbrook gets an ‘A’ for effort, but a D minus on execution with the security detail.”

Emily grins. Alison is the only person in the world who could knock out two armed guards and then snark about lax security measures.

“Bride of Frankenstein,” she broadcasts. “Northwest corner of the room. I’ve got Leslie Stone.”

“And her dance partner?” Emily asks. “Unimaginative guy in the tux?”

Alison zooms in on his face, and the screen beeps as it recognizes a match. Noel Kahn’s name flashes in front of her.

“John Smith,” Alison reports. “He’s nobody.” 

\--------

“What is this thing?” Caleb asks, looking at the computer projection desk as Charlotte manages to turn it on and project a hologram of the dance going on below.  
“I think it’s the central nervous system,” Spencer says.

“I can’t hack a hologram,” Caleb tells her.

“You won’t have to,” Charlotte says. “The servers are behind that wall.” She tosses Spencer a glass cutter. She taps a few keys on the touch screen and finds herself in a records search mode. 

“Alright,” she says. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything suspicious,” Spencer says, already slicing through a large panel to get Caleb access. “Anything on whoever’s behind all this.”

“Okay,” Charlotte says. “Carissimi was founded in 1990, Rhys Matthews is the CEO, but it looks like he gets all of his instructions from someone else. The founder.”

“Well who is it?” Spencer asks, as Caleb points to show Spencer where to plug various gadgets hidden in his sling into the heart of Carissimi’s technology.

“A dead end,” Charlotte reports. “Another shadow company. But - a lot of data is missing. It looks like they scrubbed the files five years ago.”

“Five years ago?” Caleb asks. 

“Yes,” Charlotte says, looking puzzled. “The night I ended the game.” 

Caleb hands Spencer his laptop, giving her detailed instructions on what to type. “They did a major server upgrade around then,” he notes, reading over Spencer’s shoulder. “Any records from before that time are archived.”

“Archived on the old servers?” Spencer asks. “Does that mean destroyed?”

“Too soon to tell,” Caleb mutters, leaning over Spencer’s shoulder to type with one hand.

“I’ve got something suspicious,” Charlotte announces. “If everything was scrubbed five years ago, why do they still have a bunch of files labeled Radley?”

All three of them stare at the hologram screen as pages and pages of Radley documents scroll past them. 

“Freeze it,” Spencer orders, and Charlotte taps the touch screen.

“There’s no way,” Caleb says. “It has to be wrong.”

“People would know,” Charlotte agrees. “They would notice.”

“Maybe so,” Spencer says, pulling her face so close to the hologram that it looks like the words are written on her skin. “But you see all these dates, right?” She motions for Charlotte to resume scrolling, calling periodic halts for the next two minutes until she’s satisfied with her conclusion. “They’ve got intake forms, visa paperwork, insurance records and billings. According to these files - Radley is still open for business.”

\---------

“Can I have this dance?” Holbrook asks Hanna. 

“I was about to sit down, actually,” Hanna tells him. “My feet are swollen.”

“One dance,” he insists. “For old times sake.”

Hanna reluctantly takes his hand, and he leads her to the dance floor.

“So where’s your husband?” Holbrook asks.

Hanna points to Lucas, in line at the bar.

“That’s funny,” Holbrook says. “He was wearing a wedding ring when he walked in.”

\-----

Emily and Jenna take the drinks that Lucas offers them.

Jenna downs hers quickly, and grabs Emily’s hand. “One more dance,” she says.

“We need to be careful,” Emily protests. “They’ll start to think you’re Alison.”

“I’m a better dancer than she is,” Jenna smirks. “And I hope she heard me say that.”

“There’s a button you have to push,” Emily smiles. “It would be too noisy otherwise.”

“Come on,” Jenna says suddenly, “We need to move, now.”

“What?” Emily says. allowing herself to be pulled back towards the dancers. “Why?”

“Noel Kahn is here,” Jenna says, “I think he just recognized me.”

“Alright,” Emily says, as the orchestra strikes up a tango. “I guess one more dance won’t kill me.”


	55. Hell is Empty and All the Devils are Here

Noel Kahn, in a black Lone Ranger mask and a tuxedo, scans the ballroom, as if he’s searching for someone in particular. He starts circling towards Jenna and Emily, until Mona Vanderwaal suddenly throws herself in his path.

“Noel Kahn,” Mona says, with a not-subtle thrust of her cleavage, “as I live and breathe.”

“Mona,” he nods. “Where’s Hanna? It’s nice to see you out from underneath her skirt.”

“Oh, you!” Mona giggles flirtatiously. She thrusts a hip out, puts a hand on his shoulder. “What exactly does a girl need to do for a chance to dance with the handsomest man at the party?”

\---------

“It has to be fraud,” Caleb insists. “Maybe an insurance scam?”

“Look at the names,” Charlotte points out. “And the visa paperwork.”

“Bonjour,” Spencer whispers. “Guten Morgen. Buenos Dias.” 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Charlotte asks.

“They’re using the mental hospital as a cover,” Spencer says. “They’re trafficking girls for the Dollhouse.”

\---------

A pixie sized girl in a jester costume shakes her head while staring at Emily and Jenna. The bells on her four pointed hat jangle ominously.

\----------

“He has good hygiene,” Hanna says. “He probably took it off to wash his hands.”

“You’re out of practice,” Holbrook observes. “You used to be a much better liar.”

\----------

“Eyes over here, Loverboy,” Mona says to Noel. “Who could you be looking for? Who is this vixen distracting you from a tango with the most fascinating woman here?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes still moving over the crowd.

“It’s me,” Mona says, sounding annoyed. “In case you didn’t get it, Flathead. I’m the most fascinating woman here!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Noel replies. “I’m not looking for another woman. I’m trying to find my brother.”

\------------

“Who would do this?” Caleb asks. “Or, really, who could? Something this big, you don’t build it overnight.”

“They’ve had years,” Spencer says, looking shell shocked.

“We need to follow the money,” Charlotte says suddenly. “And find the archives.”

“What was the name of the shadow company?” Spencer asks.

“Familiae Fundamentum,” Charlotte responds.

“Is that Latin?” Caleb asks. “Family is Fundamental?”

“It’s sloppy,” Spencer muses. “But it’s still Latin.”

“I’m more about dead bodies than dead languages,” Charlotte says. “Can you translate?”

“My family,” Spencer says. “My foundation.”

\------------

The jester tiptoes towards Emily and Jenna. 

She unscrews the top of her mock sceptre to reveal a sharp metal blade.

\------------

“The Kahns?” Caleb suggests. “I mean, Eric’s involved, Noel’s on the watch list, and their dad owns half of Rhode Island. They’ve got money and pull, right?”

“Their dad isn’t involved,” Charlotte says, definitively. “He never owned half of Rhode Island.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks. 

“Eric is a douchebag,” Charlotte insists. “He used to tell people stories like that all the time. The truth is, he doesn’t know who his dad is. He’s dead, or he never existed. Next suspect, please.”

“I’ve got one,” Spencer says. “He’s a creep, he’s involved and we know he likes young girls.”

“My family, my foundation,” Caleb repeats. “Holy shit! They have at least one foundation that we already know about! It even has the same initials!”

“You think it’s him?” Charlotte asks.

“It all fits,” Spencer says, grimly. “It’s Ezra. The shadow company is part of the Fitzgerald Foundation.”

“Where’s the radio?” Caleb asks. “He might be here. We need to call it in!”

\-------

Alison is sitting in the camera surveillance room, where Charlotte’s bowtie radio is wrapped around the arm of the chair. 

She catches a flash of light off something sharp and metallic. She presses the button on her own radio. “Knife!” she calls out urgently. “The jester has a knife!” She listens for a response, but hears only static.

\---------

Cyrano de Bergerac runs a gloved finger over the ridge of Aria’s wings.

“May I?” he asks Jason, not waiting for a response before he clamps an arm around Aria’s waist and cuts in.

“Hey,” Jason says with a frown, but Ezra Fitz is already whisking Aria quickly away from him. He starts to go after them, but stops when he catches sight of Dr. Rollins, Wren Kingston, and Melissa Hastings heading for the door. 

Jason looks around, torn between going after Aria or tailing the bad guys. He frantically looks around for Hanna or Mona or Emily, but there’s no one close enough to signal. He casts one last worried look at Aria and her creepy Pinocchio, then moves stealthily, like a panther in the jungle, to follow the bad guys.

\---------

“Is this about Alison?” Holbrook asks. “Because that reward is more than I make in two years at the mall, Hanna. Throw me a bone, here. You know where she is. You always know.”

Hanna breaks away from him suddenly, her eyes wide. “I can’t talk about this right now,” she says. She puts a hand to her mouth. “Em!” she says urgently. “Emily!”

She rushes past the bar, grabbing a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket as she goes. 

\-------

Alison sees Wren and her husband heading for the door with Melissa, Jason hot their tail.

“What is wrong with this thing?” Alison shouts. “Are you reading me? There’s a fool with a knife and she’s heading -” She gulps hard as she looks at the screen. “Right for Emily.”

She’s three floors above them. She’ll never make it in time. She starts running anyway, whipping out her phone as runs for the stairs.

\-------

“Aria,” Ezra says. “Aaaaria, Arrria, Aaaaaaria.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Aria says, her mouth set in a hard line.

“But I love you,” Ezra insists, pulling her close enough that he can take a deep breath and inhale the smell of her hair. She’s using a new shampoo, he notes. Something a little spicy. “And I can protect you, Aria. From all of this.”

She tries to push him away, get a few inches of space between them.

“If being safe means being with you, I’d rather be in danger with people I trust.”

“You can’t trust Jason,” he says, putting a hand tightly around her wrist. “He’s not what he seems.”

“Said the pot, about the kettle.”

“Not exactly. You might think I’m a dog, but he’s a direwolf.” He leans in to kiss her, but the nose of his mask, and Aria’s protesting hand, get in the way.

“How did you get involved with these people?” Aria asks him. “Do you know who’s behind Carissimi?”

“I went to boarding school with Rhys Matthews. I’ll tell you everything,” he promises, his breath hot and desperate against her ear. “I can give you all the answers. Just come away with me. Now. Tonight.”

“If you loved me, you’d want to help me. Not negotiate an elopement.”

“I tried asking nicely,” Ezra shrugs. “Looks like we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way.” He grabs her and hoists her over forcibly over his shoulder.

“She’s drunk,” he says loudly to the nearest party goers as he starts walking toward the nearest exit. “I’m getting her a cab.”

Aria reaches an arm behind her, plucking a long black feather from her wings. She clenches it tightly in her fist. “Not like this,” she tells him. “Carry me like we’re crossing the threshold on our honeymoon.” 

He happily obliges, adjusting her position and cradling her against his chest.

She lifts up his mask and pulls his face towards her. Then she shoves the quill in his eye.

\----------

Emily and Jenna are twirling around dramatically as the music winds down. The back of their costumes are a blur of yellow and blue as the sinister jester approaches slowly, twirling a little herself, as if she’s dancing with the knife as she moves closer and closer to her target.

She’s nearly there. She can imagine the squishy feeling of flesh, the spurt of blood. She’s waited so long. She tests the weight of the weapon in her hand and lunges forward.

There’s a clank of metal as her blade runs up against the sai fighting knife that Mona Vanderwaal has just pulled out of her hair. Then there’s a searing pain and stickiness as Hanna Marin breaks a bottle of champagne over her head.

Emily and Jenna stop dancing and the sound, and turn to focus on the fracas behind them.

“Who do we have here?” Noel Kahn asks, wrenching her mask off.

“You?” Emily says, shocked.

“You!” Jenna groans, unsurprised.

“Did you miss me?” Bethany Young asks, with a crazy smile.

Hanna shakes her head and slaps her as hard as she can.

\--------

Alison bursts into the ballroom, running flat out towards the last place she saw Emily on the cameras. She’s so focused on pushing her way through the crowd that she doesn’t see Gabriel Holbrook until she runs directly into the chest of his long blue coat.

“Dreams do come true,” he says, pinning her arms to her sides. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

Alison knees him in the groin just as Lucas darts up behind her to pepper spray him in the face.

\--------

“Why weren’t the radios working?” Emily asks.

“Ezra Fitz,” Mona says, pointing to where Aria is running quickly towards them. Emily can make out the profile of Ezra unmasked, kneeling on the ground, a hand pressed against his face in pain. “He must have been doing something, jamming the signal.”

Alison and Lucas clamber over the prone form of Holbrook reaching the others at the same time as Aria. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Alison commands breathlessly. 

“You’re telling me!” Aria agrees. 

Emily sees Lorenzo kneeling over Holbrook, who points in their direction. A group of crusaders is tending to Ezra, two of whom break off and start heading their way.

As if it’s happening in slow motion, Emily sees Caleb, Spencer, and Charlotte burst out of the lobby elevator. Spencer takes one quick look at the chaotic scene and makes a beeline for the nearest fire alarm. She’s still at least four feet away when the alarm suddenly goes off. Spencer looks around and sees the bearded Neptune with a gloved hand on another alarm pull across the room. Neptune nods at her, then disappears into the mob of people rushing for the exits.

The security staff is overwhelmed trying to restore order, and Liars hurry towards the front of the building. The frosted glass doors of the main entrance are in sight, Spencer can see people shoving each other trying to make it through the revolving door, when a tremendous noise and a sudden burst of light seem to occur simultaneously. All of the glass in the windows and doors shatter, showering the panicked crowd with dust and debris.

“Don’t duck,” Emily shouts, pulling Hanna up from her instinctive defensive crouch. “You could get trampled.”

They surge forward through a billowing cloud of smoke, and find Jason covered in soot and coughing on the sidewalk outside.

“Did you see what happened?” Aria asks, putting an arm around his shoulders. 

“It was a bomb,” Spencer says. “Where did it come from? The parking lot?”

He nods. “I’m sorry,” he coughs.

“Sorry for what?” Alison asks. “You didn’t set it, did you?”

Jason stands up and puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “It was Melissa’s car,” he says gravely. “It just exploded.”


	56. Welcome to the War

Jason stands up and puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “It was Melissa’s car,” he says gravely. “It just exploded.”

Spencer stares at him, as if he’s not speaking English, or maybe as if she’s forgotten how to understand language. 

\------

 _Spencer was turning six. She was sitting with her chin on the kitchen counter, as she watched Melissa helping her mom bake a cake for the party. The batter smelled like sugar and vanilla. Veronica handed Spencer a wooden spoon to lick. Melissa snatched it out of Spencer’s hands, with a brusque and bossy, “Raw eggs can kill you!”_

\-------

Spencer is vaguely aware of the throng of partygoers surging around them, buffeting them from all sides, a whirl of masks and costumes streaming out into the night. Jason motions for them to follow as he moves them away from the crowd and into an alley around the corner.

“Was Melissa in the car?” Charlotte asks urgently. “With Rollins and Wren?”

\---------

_Days ago, Melissa sat across from her at the Rain Forest Cafe, grinding a crouton between her teeth._

_“Listen to me,” her sister said, her voice dropping to gravelly danger level. “We’re not kids anymore, Spencer! This isn’t a game of hide and seek! You need to drop this, right now! You and your little friends need to drop the Nancy Drew routine and go back to your normal lives while you still can!”_

_”Are you threatening me?” Spencer asked in disbelief._

_“Do I need to?” Melissa asked. “Because people will get hurt, Spencer. People you love.”_

\-----------

Spencer can hear Jason talking, but it sounds like he’s speaking from deep inside a tunnel. 

“I didn’t see them get in,” Jason admits. “I was trying to hang back so they wouldn’t see me following them. All three of them were standing by her car, it looked like maybe they were arguing? An SUV blocked my view for a few seconds, and then - boom. The whole thing was a fireball.”

\------------------

 _Spencer and Melissa were staring at the London skyline from inside their slowly rotating glass capsule on the London Eye. The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben were golden, their image doubled by the wavy reflections in the Thames. Spencer pressed her fingertips to the glass, struck momentarily by the reflection of her own face and Melissa’s behind her. Spencer smiled, and the Melissa in the looking glass smiled back._

\-------------------

Spencer feels warm hands covering her own. Alison. She’s squeezing Spencer’s hand tightly. “We don’t know for sure, Spence.” The scream of sirens is loud as fire trucks rumble noisily onto the scene. She sees flashing blue lights in the distance. The police won’t be far behind.

\------------

_Melissa’s voice was angry, venomous. “When you find yourself burning in hell, don’t act like your actual sister didn’t try to warn you.”_

\------------

“She’s right,” Caleb agrees, a sturdy hand on her shoulder. “Weren’t you just lecturing me about how Melissa’s car doesn’t necessarily equal Melissa?”

\------------

_There were tears streaming down Melissa’s face, a reflection of Spencer’s own in the screen of the computer. “There’s a point when you go from survivor to predator.”_

\-------------

Jason shakes his head as he looks at Spencer. He’s staring hard into her eyes, his face full of kindness and pity. She feels like she can see right through him. Like he’s a specter, translucent. She can’t see anything except the soot on his skin. “I ran over. I got as close as I could, but it was too late. There were bodies in the car. Two of them. In the front seat.”

Spencer feels her whole body go numb. Like it used to feel, when she was using. Like someone pushed the mute button on all the anxiety, all the terror. Turned down all the colors until the world was black and white and a million exhausted shades of gray. And then, it feels like a zap, hit with a flash of memory as she sees the concern on Jason’s face deepen.

\--------------

_Jason’s eyes were having trouble focusing, his pupils were as big as the moon hanging low over the trees in the Hastings backyard. He was wearing a wool hat, and his goatee gave him a look that Ali liked to describe as ‘washed up bass player’. But then his eyebrows furrowed together, he looked almost concerned. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice slow, like he had to think hard to make his mouth form words. “You already went through the last batch?”_

_“I just need a few more to get me through,” Spencer wheedled, dangling a couple of fifty dollar bills in front of him._

_“What are you doing?” Melissa’s voice cut through the darkness. Spencer jumped, then pulled Jason into the bushes to hide. Melissa was maybe ten feet away. She paced back and forth, completely focused on her cell phone. “How could you set me up like that?”_

_Jason handed Spencer a small baggie of pills, grabbed her money, and staggered back towards the DiLaurentis house. He tripped over a lawn chair, with a crash that apparently startled Melissa. She moved quickly away from him, coming closer to the bushes where Spencer was hidden._

_“You have to help me,” Melissa pleaded. “You have to help me get it back!” It sounded like there were tears in her voice. “I felt something, okay? Are you really telling me it was all a lie? What the hell is wrong with you?”_

_The sound of laughter came from behind Melissa, who was so startled that she hung up on whoever she’d been talking to. Alison appeared, as if out of nowhere. Spencer had left her asleep in her own bedroom when she snuck out to meet Jason. “Was that Ian?” she asked with a smirk. “More trouble in paradise?”_

_“You blue eyed little snake,” Melissa snarled, smacking Ali so hard that Spencer could see the droplets of blood fly from the side of her mouth._

\---------

“Did you -” Aria starts haltingly. “Could you tell who they were?”

\---------

_”I was hoping you’d be happy for me,” Melissa said._

_“Well, you know what they say about hope,” Spencer replied. “It breeds eternal misery.”_

\---------

“Not really,” Jason replies. “But - I found this.” He’s holding a twisted Maleficent horn, still smouldering slightly as he places it gently in Spencer’s hand.

Spencer looks at it as if she’s not even sure what it is. As if it’s the flaming body of a bird, or a piece of burnt rubber tire abandoned on the side of a highway. Then her eyes focus, her fingers close around the horn, she leans forward and retches into the street. Hanna moves behind her, silently holding her hair. Spencer can hear the voices of her friends, but everything sounds tinny and distant, like it’s coming in on an old radio that’s mostly static.

“We need to run,” Charlotte says in a low voice. “Now.”

“We’re not going anywhere until Spencer’s okay,” Emily says, firmly.

“That’s not what you meant, is it?” Alison asks her sister.

“No,” Charlotte answers. “I mean go on the run. Fast. Like, leave the country.”

Spencer can taste the bile in the back of her throat.

\-----------

_Melissa’s face looked as uncontrolled as the time she threw a dictionary at her opponent on the debate team. “Pretty little tombstones all in a row! Is that what you want? Because if it’s not - you need to pack up the rest of the Liars and go.”_

\-----------

“Why?” Aria asks, suspicious. “You didn’t -” she lowers her voice further, trying to avoid Spencer overhearing. “You didn’t do this - did you?”

Spencer’s head is hanging down between her legs. She can see her friends as hazy shapes in the alley, upside down.

“Woah,” Jenna says, putting up a hand. “Not that you guys don’t know how to show a girl a good time, but I’m actually going to take your advice about going on the run. Before I hear anything that puts me a cell next to yours on a conspiracy charge.” She turns to Emily and says, “Watch your back, okay? We lost Bethany in the crowd.”

Alison cuts in. “Then it’s not safe for you either.” She turns to Noel. “Get her out of here.”

“I’ll go, too,” Lucas volunteers, as Jenna shimmies out of the Anne Boleyn dress, revealing a black leotard and tights underneath. “Safety in numbers.”

The three of them slip past Spencer, back into the fringes of the crowd, using the mass exodus to disguise their own hurried pace away from the Carissimi building.

\--------------

_There were broken pieces of Melissa’s face floating in the water. “You don’t understand!” she shouted. “You never understood. I’ve been protecting you since it started. Since before it started._

_The night was cold and clammy in the way that made the flesh on the back of your neck crawl._

_“Let it go, Spencer,” Melissa implored. “You have to let it go or it will come apart in ways you cannot even imagine.”_

_And then, in the blink of an eye, Melissa was gone._

\---------------

Spencer shivers. Aria crouches beside her, wrapping her up in her costume dress like she’s a doll. Hanna strokes her hair a final time and steps back to the others.

“I’m serious,” Charlotte says, speaking directly to Alison. “We’re probably both in the books as escaped mental patients right now. Your husband’s stitches are barely closed from when you stabbed him - if he just got blown to smithereens, you can’t let them catch you here.”

“But she didn’t do anything - this time,” Emily protests.

“As if that’s ever mattered to Tanner,” Mona points out. 

“Come on,” Charlotte urges, grabbing Alison’s shoulder. “We picked up that briefcase full of cash from your house. We have the passports, Ali. We can drive to New York, be in Ibiza tomorrow.”

“No,” Emily says to Alison. “No. You do not get to leave again.”

“I’m not leaving,” Alison says. 

“No one gets to leave,” Hanna says grimly. “Nowhere is safe until this is over. It’s us against them. And I feel really bad for Spencer, I do - but war makes casualties! If Melissa wasn’t evil, she was in bed with the bad guys, and I’d way rather her get blown to tiny bits than any one of you.”

“Hanna!” Emily exclaims, putting a hand on her arm in a vain attempt to get her to lower her voice.

“What?” Hanna retorts. “It’s true. Welcome to the war!”

\--------------

_Melissa smelled like coffee and Chanel No. 5. Her face looked so blank her features might have been starched on._

_“If you had to choose,” she asked Spencer, “between someone you love and me, who would you choose?”_

\--------------

Spencer takes a few steps towards the parking lot. She can see the smoke still rising from her sister’s car, can see the fire department dousing the car with water and chemicals, sees two paramedics hauling the bodies out of the front seat, just like Jason said. 

Even from this far away, she can tell the features are charred beyond recognition. But she sees the tattered remains of a top hat melted onto one body’s head, and the silhouette of a single twisted Maleficent horn rising from the smaller body being pulled from the driver’s side.

She throws up again.

\---------------

_She’s driving Melissa back from the church and there’s a sudden bang of impact, the sound of metal tearing. The airbags go off and the smell of gunpowder fills the air._

\------------------

She pulls out her phone. She has to call her parents. They need to hear it from her. She stares at the lighted display, but her fingers won’t cooperate. The numbers don’t make sense. And then Emily is next to her, helping her. She stares at Emily’s fingers as she pulls up Spencer’s contacts. She pulls up recent calls and scrolls past the dozen or so to Paige, then finally lands on Veronica.

Spencer can hear the phone ringing. She takes it from Emily’s hand and puts it to her ear.

“Hello,” Veronica says, already sounding on edge.

Spencer opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. 

“Hello?” her mother says. “Spencer?”

Jason takes the phone from her. “Mrs. Hastings,” her brother says nervously. She can see his throat moving, as if he’s trying not to cry. She remembers that he kissed Melissa once. In the time before. So far in the past, it’s almost like it doesn’t exist.

“Jason,” Veronica says urgently. “What is it? What’s happened to Spencer?”

Jason takes a deep breath and winds up coughing. “It’s not Spencer,” he manages to say. “We’re at the Carissimi building. There’s been - an accident.”

Veronica’s voice is stern in his ear. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Right now.”

Jason steels himself, stands as straight as he can. As if he’s about to admit his most painful secrets to a group of strangers. “It’s Melissa,” he says, as Spencer sees the blue flashing lights bearing down on them. It’s too late to run. Too late to hide. “Her car.” 

Detective Tanner jumps out of her sedan, Barry Maple at her side. They both have their weapons drawn. 

“Her car exploded,” Jason says. “It’s bad, Veronica. I’m afraid she didn’t -”

“Get off the phone,” Tanner orders.

“Give me a minute,” Jason angrily retorts.

“You don’t have a minute,” Tanner replies, a grim look on her face. She nods to Barry Maple. “Arrest them. Arrest them all.”


	57. SpartacUS

“You’re not under arrest,” Barry Maple tells Hanna, who is seated across from him in one of the interrogation rooms. “But we need to ask you some questions. Find out what you know.”

Hanna stares at him, her lips pursed in silence.

\-----

“I think you were always jealous of your sister,” Detective Breyer theorizes to Spencer. “I have twenty witnesses who will be happy to testify about your little make out session with Wren Kingston tonight. He turned you down, didn’t he? Or were you having an affair and he broke it off, so you came up with those wild accusations against him? And when that didn’t work, you decided to get rid of her, didn’t you?”

Spencer sits across from him, looking like a rag doll, her hair a mess, her dress untied over her black breaking and entering outfit in the back. She says nothing. She imagines she can see Melissa reflected in the one way glass.

_”I need to know, Melissa. Are you sleeping with the enemy here, or are you the enemy?”_

_“I’m not your enemy, Spencer. I’m your sister.”_

_“Is there a difference?” Spencer said._

It’s not Melissa, of course. She’s staring at her own face.

\--------

A cop Emily doesn’t recognize flips through some papers. He doesn’t even seem like a detective. He reminds her a little of Toby, someone who looks better suited to coffee runs than questioning suspects.

“Um,” he says, sweating a little. “So, I see there was a restraining order against you?”

\---------

A detective in an ill fitting suit sits across from Aria, looking like he has indigestion. 

“Look here, little lady,” he says. “No one thinks you could have set off a bomb under that car. But one of your friends sure did. Now you tell us who, and you can get out of here right quick.”

Aria crosses her arms and says nothing.

\----------

“You have quite a history,” the desk sergeant says, flipping through Mona’s file. “Seems like you’d be more than capable of blowing up a car.”

“Please,” Mona says. “I’m not an amateur.”

\-----------

“Alright,” Officer Fife says, staring hard at Caleb. “Tell me the truth. You blew up that car, didn’t you?”

He scatters the flash drives and electronics Caleb had concealed in his sling across the table.

“You did it right? Using your computers?”

Caleb rolls his eyes and keeps his mouth shut.

\----------

Tanner slams through a door to the conference room, where Alison DiLaurentis waits politely in handcuffs.

The detective thwaps a manilla folder against the table. “We have preliminary identification on the male victim,” she announces. “But I’m sure it won’t be a surprise to you, Mrs. Rollins. Congratulations. You’re a widow.”

\----------

“Do you usually interview people in here?” Jason asks, from his seat in the breakroom.

“No,” his interviewing officer says. “We ran out of rooms for you guys.” He rummages through the fridge, coming up with a half-eaten ham sandwich. He takes an exploratory bite.

“So,” the cop says conversationally, chewing with his mouth open. “Which of your sisters blew up that car?”

\------------

Charlotte hums to herself inside a cell. The property room clerk leans against the bars.

“How about you confess,” he suggests. “Save us all a lot of time?”

“Okay,” Charlotte shrugs. “I did it. They were bad guys. And I’m crazy.”

\-----------

Officer Maple places an evidence bag on the table. It’s hard to say what exactly is inside. It looks like a small blackened lump of twisted plastic.

“Do you know what this is?” Maple asks her.

Hanna’s heart sinks. It’s the tracker Caleb had on Melissa’s car. Post explosion. She wonders if he wore gloves. If a bomb can blast off fingerprints.

She pictures Caleb’s face, bright red from arguing against coming back here. In her mind, she sees his body prone at the bottom of the ladder in the Dollhouse. That’s the kind of guy her husband is. Willing to give up his whole life, for her.

Hanna closes her eyes and thinks of how many times the police have thrown her in jail. For possession of a shovel. For trying to bury her dad’s gun. For helping to murder Mona when she wasn’t even dead. All on way less physical evidence than a possibly illegal signaling device magnetized to the bottom of an exploded car belonging to their known enemies.

“It’s your lucky day,” she tells Barry Maple. “I did it. You may not want to believe this, but Wren Kingston and Dr. Rollins and Melissa - they were dangerous people. I want my kid to grow up in a world that’s safe from all that. I did it. I blew up that car.”

\---------

Mona sees Hanna being led past, her hands cuffed behind her gorgeous white dress, her whole costume except the mask still intact.

“Hey,” Mona says, banging her hand on the table. “Hey!”

The desk sergeant looks up from his file, startled by the outburst.

“You let Hanna Marin go _right now_ , Mona insists. “Hanna would _never_ kill anyone. Her little mini-me is _not_ going to be born in a cell, okay? Get your lazy ass in gear and show me where to sign! I did it!”

\------- 

Barry Maple takes Hanna’s signed statement into the room where Fife is trying to ask Caleb questions.

“Your wife is being escorted to a cell, Mr. Rivers.”

“What?!” Caleb says, the first words he’s uttered since being taken into custody.

Maple sets the evidence bag with the tracker in front of Caleb.

“She copped to it the moment we showed her this device, found on the bottom of Ms. Hasting’s car.”

Caleb’s eyes are wild with panic. He runs his good hand through his hair, pulling it slightly against his fingers. Damn you, Hanna, he thinks. His gorgeous big hearted wife, so fucking quick to protect everyone but herself. There’s only one thing he can do to try and help her.

“It wasn’t her,” Caleb says firmly. “It was me.”

\----------

“Hey,” Jason’s cop says, strolling back from the vending machine with snacks. “I heard your sister Charlotte just confessed.”

_Jason was five years old, digging for worms in the backyard. He had a blue plastic shovel attached to a bucket from a trip to the beach, but he was mostly digging with his hands, scattering dirt all around._

_Charlie was spinning in circles nearby, his clothes completely spotless. A girl down the street was taking ballet lessons, and had promised to show him some of the twirls in exchange for the Twinkie from his lunch box every day._

_Their mom had watched for awhile, and clapped, then waddled off to take a nap. She was always tired lately. Charlie had told him there was going to be a baby soon, and they should practice holding dolls for a few minutes every day, as long as Dad wasn’t home._

_Jason found a worm, watched it wriggle blindly in his hand._

_A shadow fell across the yard. His father. Jason looked up at him, noticed that his face looked like he’d accidentally eaten something bad. Like when Jason chewed one of the lemons his mom was squeezing for lemonade._

_Jason jumped up to show his dad the worm. “Look what I’ve got!”_

_“You’re filthy,” Kenneth DiLaurentis said angrily. Jason looked down at his clothes, smeared with clumps of grass and soil._

_But it wasn’t his arm that his father clenched in an angry fist, it was Charlie’s. Jason hadn’t even noticed the pink hair ribbon Charlie had tied around his wrist, not until his dad yanked on it so hard he tore it off. Charlie clutched the red mark on his wrist and started to cry._

_Jason dropped the worm. His father stormed past him towards the house, grinding it beneath the sole of his black leather shoes._

Twenty four years later, Jason feels tears prick his eyes at the memory. He silently curses his parents, his drinking, himself. How had they managed to convince him it wasn’t real? 

He thinks of Charlotte, growing up alone and confused in an asylum. He thinks of her only birthday party, the one where his mom pretended she was a distant cousin. All that pretending. Was it any wonder she had trouble knowing right from wrong?

“Want some Fritos?” the cop asks him, ripping open the bag.

“No,” Jason says. “I’d like to make a confession. My sister didn’t do it. I did.”

\-----------

Veronica and Peter Hastings, both dressed in black, both with watery red rimmed eyes, resolutely march up the steps to the Rosewood Police Department. Peter holds the door open for his wife. She waits for him in the vestibule.

Their phones ping in unison. An identical text message appears on both of their screens. They read it and lock eyes.

The Hastings stride determinedly towards the front desk holding hands.

\-----------

 

“You were tired of being married,” Tanner states. “We have security footage from the hotel in Philadelphia. We know you and Emily Fields spent the night together there. We know she assaulted him in a tussle over you. And we already know your big eyes aren’t enough to fool a jury, Alison. Especially now. Your reputation precedes you. They’ll send back a conviction in record time. The only question is how many years you’re going to get.”

“None,” Alison insists. “I didn’t do it.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Tanner responds.

“If I wanted to kill my husband, I’d have an ironclad alibi and you’d never find the body,” Alison says dismissively, studying her nails.

“We have a statement from your Dr. Rollins, relating how you stabbed him in the stomach days before the car he was in exploded. As well as his sworn complaint against Ms. Fields when he applied for the order of protection. In police work, we call that a slam dunk.”

“If it were such a slam dunk, you wouldn’t be in here trying to lie your way into a confession from me,” Alison replies. “You couldn’t have anything back on those bodies yet. It’s way too soon.”

“The Liars are in town, things start catching fire, bodies show up,” Tanner says. “I’m willing to authorize a little overtime. In fact, I’m expecting a ballistics report back any minute. Maybe you did love him after all. Shooting him before you blew him up.”

Alison goes pale, but says nothing. 

“It looks like a slug from a Beretta,” Tanner continues. “Funny, isn’t it? Your high school sweetheart just happens to have a Beretta registered to her in Texas. Young love, am I right?” 

Alison thinks about that afternoon in the library. The way Emily looked so nervous, so lit up from the inside with the pure feeling of her love. 

Her life would have been so much better, Alison thinks, if she’d never even met me. She’d be an Olympic medalist. She’d have some massage therapist girlfriend with beefy arms. She’d be normal and happy and not facing down a murder rap for another crime she’d never commit.

Alison can still remember, vividly, what it felt like to be in prison. The nothingness of daily life. The noises at night. The loneliness of not even being able to look out the window and see if it’s raining outside. The miserable food. The endlessness of it. The hopelessness.

She closes her eyes. 

“Emily Fields had nothing to do with this,” she tells Tanner. “None of them did. It was all me.”

\----------

“Whew!” Emily’s interviewing officer says, fiddling with the stapler. “I hear the DiLaurentis girl confessed. I think we might get cake later. I can save you a piece, if you want. If you’re still here.”

Emily stares at him, appalled. She thinks about the night Alison was arrested, their senior year of high school. Her face at the trial after the verdict came in. The weight of guilt Emily had felt in her own stomach, counting all the things she should have said, should have done. All the ways she should have trusted Alison, should have protected her. It’s too late to do anything about that, of course. But it’s not too late now.

“Alison didn’t do it,” she says, picking up a pen. She grabs his legal pad and starts writing out her confession.

The cop nearly chokes on his gum as he clumsily drops the stapler.

\------------

“Hello?” Peter calls out at the empty desk. “Where is everyone?”

“I’m not waiting around,” Veronica announces, her voice slightly sniffly underneath the steely determination. “If Spencer is here, we need to start knocking on doors.”

\------------

Aria’s cop returns from a bathroom break.

“I’m not telling you how to do your job or anything,” Aria says pleasantly. “But you could look into Wren Kingston a little bit. Or Bethany Young. Ezra Fitz, maybe? Or Leslie Stone. Eric Kahn. Rhys Matthews. Would you like me to write these names down for you?”

“I’ve got some names for you,” the policeman says, leaning back in his chair. “Hanna Marin. Caleb Rivers. Mona Vanderwaal. Emily Fields. Alison DiLaurentis. Jason DiLaurentis. Charlotte DiLaurentis. I think we’ve got plenty of Liars already racing to get their names in the books for this one. We’re done here, lil girl.”

Aria draws herself up to her full height. She can hear Emily’s voice when they were sitting together in Alison’s living room.

_If we learned anything, it’s that we can only survive if we stick together._

“We’re not done yet,” she tells him. “I mix a mean Moltov cocktail, mister. Uncap that pen. I want to make a confession.”

\---------------

Peter and Veronica Hastings enter the conference room where Alison is signing her confession in front of a giddy Detective Tanner. Barry Maple bustles in behind them full of apologies.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. They were threatening to sue us. Again. I know you left orders not to be disturbed, but-”

“It’s fine,” Tanner says. “I’ve got a signed confession.”

“Actually,” Peter informs her, “you have eight of them.”

“And where is our daughter?” Veronica asks. “We’d prefer to speak with her before your inept policemen bumble out of their clown car and try to wrest another false confession before the shift change.”

“I’m sure it’s all part of their little game,” Tanner says, still smiling. “I have no problem bringing them all up on conspiracy charges.”

“Under what theory of the crime?” Peter asks, with a tone of sarcastic curiosity in his voice. “Every one of these accounts contain conflicting details and clear signs of police prompting from a department with a demonstrated vendetta against Spencer and her friends.”

“I could almost wish you had enough to take this to trial,” Veronica says. “Any jury would set a land speed record finding reasonable doubt.”

“You can’t represent all of them,” Tanner protests. “They’re confessing to blowing up your other daughter, for godsakes!”

Peter’s face is white with fury. “Is that how you do family notification, Detective? Or did you skip that in your haste to railroad our youngest daughter?”

“And as far as representing them all,” Veronica says, pulling out her cell phone. “I have a whole firm full of eager young lawyers who certainly won’t mind being woken up.”

“As long as we’re making calls,” Peter chimes in, “I think I might just phone Judge Ridenour. He’s probably still at the club, smoking cigars and finishing up his poker game. Took $70 off me last week.”

“Or Lee Harper,” Veronica suggests. “She was just seated on the State Supreme Court last year. The woman’s an absolute bore at dinner parties, but she’s a beast on the bench. And on the tennis court.”

“This is obstruction,” Tanner snarls. 

“You wouldn’t know obstruction if it smacked you in the face,” Veronica snarls back.

“Which,” Peter adds, “might qualify as obstruction. So that could be a valuable lesson for us all.”

“Now,” Veronica says, sweeping Alison under her arm. “Please stop all this nonsense and take us to Spencer. I don’t intend to ask again.”

\----------

Spencer is staring at her hands, which feel like they’re shaking, even though they’re not. She feels like there’s a subterranean vibration beneath her skin.

Detective Breyer is still hammering away. “You have knowledge of bomb making,” he says. “We have it on record that you disarmed the explosive charges at Radley in a matter of seconds. You can break it, you can make it, right?”

“Or did you hire it out? Did you seduce Paige McCullers to make her do your dirty work for you? Did you know her aunt was in here earlier today, to file a missing persons report? Did she plant the bomb and skip town?”

Spencer’s head snaps up as her parents shove their way through the door, Detective Tanner on their heels. Her mom looks so much like Melissa.

_”All I want is the truth!” Spencer had said, raising her voice._

_“I wanted that once, too,” Melissa said snidely. “When I was a child, I spoke as a child. But when I became an adult, I put childish things away. Now it’s time for you to grow up and do the same, little sister._

“Spencer,” her mother says. “Don’t say another word.”

“No offense, Ma’am,” Breyer says. “But this is your daughter’s murder we’re investigating. We have confirmation on the dental records. The bodies they pulled from that car were Dr. Joseph Rollins and Melissa Hastings. Both were killed in the explosion.”

_Spencer stopped dancing and looked into Wren’s eyes. She peeled up the bottom of his mask and kissed him, forcefully._

_“Let me be the Black Swan,” she said. “Take me. Trade me for Melissa.”_

“Mom,” Spencer whispers. “I killed her. It’s all my fault.”

Barry Maple steps into the room. “Lieutenant Tanner,” he says urgently. “There’s a phone call for you.”

\-----------

Detective Tanner’s face is almost purple with rage as she paces back and forth in front of her desk. 

“But they’ve confessed,” she protests into the receiver. “Whatever Veronica Hastings has implied, I assure you, nothing was coerced! Even if we drop the charges on the two murders, I can get Gabriel Holbrook to press a case for assault! And Ezra Fitz was being treated by the paramedics, I’m sure he didn’t trip and fall on that feather. Plus the fire alarm, we could hold them all for inciting a riot! Both the DiLaurentis girls are fugitives! The Vanderwaal girl had military grade hardware in her purse! We can hold Fields on violating the restraining order!”

She listens for a moment to the terse voice on the other end of the line.

“With all due respect,” Tanner spits out, “There is no such thing as innocent until proven guilty with this bunch! They’ve been flouting the law since they were fifteen years old!”

She winces at the next words that come over the line.

“Yes,” she says, as if she’s agreeing to undergo an especially painful dental procedure without anesthesia.

“No,” she says, grinding her molars together. “Of course.”

“Yes,” Tanner says, snapping a pencil in half. “We’ll cooperate. Naturally.”

“Right away,” she promises, hanging up the phone. She stands there a moment, a vein standing out, pulsing on her forehead.

She sweeps an arm over the desk in a rage, knocking everything to the floor with a crash.

\----------

Tanner strides back to the holding cell where Charlotte, Hanna, Mona, Caleb, Jason, Alison, Emily, Aria, and Spencer are milling around, most still in their costumes, looking for all the world like a band of marauding hoodlums on Trick or Treat night.

She glares daggers at Peter and Veronica Hastings. “I don’t know what strings the two of you had to pull, but I promise you - the next crime these ladies commit, I’m going to ring you both up as co-conspirators, and then we’ll just see how eager your fancy friends are to take your calls.”

“I take it that means they’re free to go?” Veronica asks, sarcastically.

“Not quite all of them,” Tanner replies, opening the cell door. “Charlotte DiLaurentis, you are being held for transport back to a state sanctioned mental health facility to continue serving out the remainder of your sentence. And Miss Vanderwaal, you’ll be staying on to answer a few questions about the contents of your purse.”

“Mrs. Hastings,” Hanna pleads, a hand on Veronica’s sleeve. “Mona -”

“Yes, yes,” Veronica Hastings nods. “Detective, did you have a warrant to search that purse?”

She continues to bicker with Tanner while Peter Hastings consults with Barry Maple, and then walks purposefully over to Jason who is standing with his arm around a vacant eyed Spencer. Aria is on Spencer’s other side, patting her back and talking in soothing tones.

“The parking lot is still a crime scene,” Peter advises. “Leave your cars, they’re the least of our concerns. They’re detailing two officers to drive you and stay on as a protective detail.”

Jason nods.

“Have them take you straight back to the lake house. Straight back. You don’t stop for anything, do you understand? You go in, you secure the premises, and you do not open the door for anyone. Not until you hear from myself or my wife, is that clear?”

“What’s going on?” Alison demands, as Emily hustles her out of the cell and into the hallway.

“This isn’t a press conference,” Peter snaps. “There’s no time for questions. Go!”

“You heard him,” Jason says, herding the Liars as he and Aria drag Spencer down the hallway away from her parents. “Charlotte -” he says, turning back towards the cell. Charlotte is watching the back and forth between Tanner and Veronica avidly and with obvious relish, as if she’s in the grandstand at a tennis match.

“I’ll take care of her, son,” Peter assures him. 

Officer Maple holds the door as they exit the station, and gestures towards a police van at the edge of the parking lot where two uniformed officers are standing at attention. The cops swing the back doors of the van open. The taller one gets in the front seat and starts the engine, as the shorter one, only visible as the tip of her hat behind the back window of the door, waits for them to pile into the vehicle before slamming the door.

The van speeds out of the police parking lot, zooming around the corner at breakneck speed.

Aria locks eyes with Emily, and she can read the same worry on her face. They’re both waiting for the crash, waiting for the van to be taken by force.

“Do relax,” a voice says from the front seat. Wren Kingston takes off the police hat, and throws them a chilling smile in the rearview mirror. Bethany Young turns around from the passenger seat and waves ominously. “I’ve got it all under control.”

He and Bethany put on gas masks, there’s a hissing sound as Bethany points a cannister at them, and then everything goes black.


	58. The Architect of All Your Pain

Emily’s eyes flicker open, she sees track lighting exposed wood beams. Her head lolls downward. She jerks awake and tries to stand, then realizes her right hand is cuffed to the back of a wooden chair. The chair itself seems to be bolted to the floor. 

She forces her eyes to focus, and sees Alison, awake and looking worried, cuffed to the chair next to her. They other Liars are seated around - it looks like a dinner table, all except Jason and Caleb, who both have their arms cuffed to a radiator. Jason is still unconscious and has blood matted in his hair as if he’s recently been hit.

Emily’s mouth is full of a sour, mothball taste. The taste triggers her memory of being drugged and waking up here. Again. The table they’re positioned around sits in the center of the Hastings barn.

“Emily!” Wren exclaims pleasantly from the head of the table. “So good of you to join us.” 

Emily stares at him, wide-eyed, then looks around the table at her friends, all of whom seem just as perplexed by his behavior as she is. Hanna, seated across from Emily, shrugs slightly and uses her free hand to make to twirl a lock of her hair, subtly making the ‘crazy’ gesture for Emily’s benefit. Emily can see her own reflection, pale and frightened, in the gleam of Hanna’s moonstone necklace.

“What do you want with us?” Alison asks him, trying to sound tough.

“I issued a very polite invitation,” Wren informs her, “the moment I learned your friends were back in town. They were all to come for a meal. We’ve just time, really. And look at you all, dressed to the nines! Perfect for a last supper.”

He rings a bell next to his plate, as if he’s Lord of the Manor on Downton Abbey, summoning a servant.

Bethany Young bustles in wearing a butler’s tuxedo and bearing a silver tray of food on her shoulder. She comes around, serving them all plates of what appears to be veal and asparagus on a bed of risotto.

Spencer, seated at the foot of the table, directly across from Wren, looks at him with a face full of rage and disdain. At least she’s out of the fugue state, Emily thinks, as Spencer takes the veal in her free hand and hurls it at Wren. It hits him, sliding off his cheek with a bloody plop.

“Manners, Spencer,” he chides gently, waving a knife at them. It doesn’t look especially sharp, but the eyes of every single liar follow it as he unconcernedly cuts his meat, taking a juicy bite and chewing.

“Shall we play the old game?” he asks. “Would it make you feel more at home? I’ll go first. The highlight of my day? It’s a difficult call. Our kiss, of course. The car bomb. But I think I’ll have to decide in favor of this lovely, lovely meal. There’s nothing like breaking bread with old friends, is there?” He raises a glass of wine in their direction. “Cheers.”

“I’ll play,” Spencer tells him, her eyes full of fire and defiance. “The high point of my day was hearing you explain yourself. Telling us what this is all about, once and for all.”

“Very good,” he says, cheekily. “You want to know what this is about? Think of a man, any man. A farmer. A cowboy. A soldier. Picture him out on the plains. Kansas, perhaps. Doesn’t matter where. He comes upon a stallion. A wild stallion. Such beauty. Such enormous power. Belonging to no one. Completely untamed.”

He pauses to take a bite of asparagus, gesturing with the pointy green tip on the end of his fork.

“What does the man want? To break it. Harness it. Make it serve him. And what will he do? Anything,” Wren shrugs. “ Anything to get a rope around its neck, to dig his spurs in its unmarked side. It’s the story of America, really.” He chews slowly, gazing around the table at them. “I used to think of you like that, you know. A pack of stallions, bucking wildly, your heels clacking like hooves across the prairie.”

“Bullshit,” Hanna cuts in. “My grandma used to break horses, and she didn’t do it with cameras at the barn windows. We’re more than horseflesh here, and you know it.” 

Wren smiles. “So spirited,” he says approvingly. “But you’re right. That’s the other part of the American story. It’s called capitalism, Hanna. Making money.”

“From dirty movies and blackmail?” Alison asks.

“Certainly,” Wren agrees. “In part. It takes money to make money, as they say. We used the funds from the N.A.T. activities to launch our Grand Experiment. Which has been much more lucrative, over time, than pedaling softcore home videos.”

“What are you talking about?” Aria asks. “Did you have a Kickstarter campaign for advanced psychological torture?”

Wren chuckles. “No, our backers aren’t quite so public. But you’d be surprised how much money can be made studying the limits of the human psyche. The implications are virtually limitless. It’s all about control. How to obtain it. How to maintain it. Prison populations. Rebellions with charismatic leaders.”

“Your father has probably read some of our work, Emily. Not knowing he had any personal connection to the research, of course. But the military has been most interested in what our studies show about how to best break enemy combatants. How to create a fighting unit so psychologically strong that it won’t crack under the gravest of pressure. That it outlasts even the presumed death of its members.” He raises his glass to all of them again, and drinks. “Whoever would have thought we’d learn so much from a gaggle of teenage girls?”

“You misogynist bastard,” Spencer says. 

“You mistake me!” Wren protests. “I love women! I’m quite a feminist, really. After all, we’ve replicated your scenario countless times. With boys and girls, women and men. Some of them strangers to one another. Some of them friends, like you. They all break. Terribly.”

He spears his dinner aggressively.

“Well, you read the papers. All those suicides linked to cyberbullying? Awful stuff.” He shakes his head. “We’ve never found a group as strong as you girls. No matter what new levels we devised for you, you always came out stronger. You killed to protect one another. You lied to every authority figure in your lives. You broke too many laws to count, although I’m sure poor Detective Tanner has tried. And you’ve had your moments of distrust. Suspicion. Anger. But you always circle the wagons to protect one another in the final test. It’s remarkable.” 

“That’s all we are?” Emily asks. “Remarkable rats in the maze?”

“You were our first group,” Wren announces proudly. “And the best.”

“How did you choose us?” Alison asks. “Was this your plan all along? Or did you decide when I met you at Cape May?”

“Oh, I knew of you long before then,” Wren admits. “Shall we say, your reputation preceded you. My father - he assigned me to this project, especially.”

“Would that be the father that left your family for the voices in his head?” Hanna asks. “Because I’m thinking that’s not the guy you should have gone to for career counseling.”

“You were always a better listener than Spencer,” Wren says to Hanna. “On the contrary, it was a perfect fit. I’ve always had a bit of a flair for design. This project allowed me to build on an unprecedented scale. He made me the architect. Of all your pain.”

“How did he make you a job offer?” Hanna presses. “Didn’t you tell me he was locked up in the nut house? When you were ten?”

“Oh dear,” Wren says, frowning. “I fear I gave you the wrong end of the stick. He wasn’t in an institution. I was.”

“Physician, heal thyself,” Spencer mutters.

“What -” Emily asks, thinking about Charlotte. “What did you do? To be institutionalized?”

“Don’t worry,” Wren says, in a tone so calm he could be discussing the weather. “I’m not offended. It was a long time ago. Sometimes it feels like it wasn’t even me. I had a brother. A twin brother. We were ten years old when I killed him.” 

“What?” Alison says in disbelief. 

“My father does hear voices,” Wren confides. “But they urge him to greatness. They show him how to go beyond the limits of other men. For the greater good. My brother and I, I believe we were his first experiment.”

“Like Cain and Abel.” Spencer observes.

“And wouldn’t you rather be Cain?” Wren asks, taking another bite of veal. “This is delicious, by the way. So young. So tender.”

“Is your father the King of Swords?” Alison asks. “Does he run the Carissimi Group?”

“Of course not,” Wren says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He’s a visionary, not a businessman. He was brought into Carissimi on the ground floor. They were very interested in his work. I came of age, they helped to arrange my release from the mental hospital. I stole a new identity and was brought on board as well. We’ve had a very symbiotic relationship over the years.”

“So your father is here? He’s in town?” Hanna asks. “Hearing voices and giving you orders?”

“Is he coming to dinner?” Aria asks. “Because you can just undo these handcuffs and give him my seat. I’m a vegetarian.”

“So polite,” says an ominously familiar voice from the doorway. “I’m afraid it’s time to drop the act and the accent, my boy.”

“No,” Alison says, horrified. 

“I’m afraid so, darling,” Dr. Rollins replies. “I’m just as hard to kill as you are. Now allow me to make the proper introductions.” He puts a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “This is Christopher, your stepson. And executioner.”


	59. A Whole Alphabet Full

“Christopher,” Spencer repeats. 

“I never did like that name,” Wren frowns, although he obeys his father and discontinues the accent. His voice sounds flat, indistinct, like the voice of a newscaster on the radio. Someone who could be anyone. Anywhere. “I chose Wren in honor of Christopher Wren and decided to become British.”

“Why?” Hanna asks. 

“Shakespeare,” he replies. “And history. I love my father almost as much as I fear him. As any good King’s son should.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Dr. Rollins tells him. “Why are you chatting them up over dinner? Were your instructions unclear? You’re supposed to be killing them, not telling them your life story over hors d’oeuvres.”

The Liars exchange glances. The longer Wren talks, the longer they live. The longer they live, the better the chances of rescue. 

How long, Emily wonders, until the Hastings realize they didn’t make it to the lake house. Until someone thinks to start looking for them.

“We won’t have a better chance,” Rollins continues. “The money? The fake passports? The arrests? We disappear the bodies and make it look like they fled the charges. I’m already presumed dead. We grab Estella and some of her little friends, and we start all over in a new Dollhouse.”

“But killing them would be a waste of resources,” his son protests. “They can disappear into one of the Dollhouses just as easily.”

“They have escaped the Dollhouse twice,” Dr. Rollins says, unamused. “Three times, if you count their escape of the structure, but not the perimeter. We can’t risk it.”

“But the experiment-”

“Was compromised from the moment they learned it was an experiment.”

“It doesn’t have to be. We can use medication, electroshock! We can make them forget!”

“Please,” his father scoffs. “You talked us into that with the Vanderwaal girl. Need I remind you how well that worked?”

“It’s not an exact science,” Wren says heatedly. “You’ve done it before, you’ve seen it work!”

“This is not up for discussion,” Rollins says, adamant. “Eric Kahn was killed for trying to take them alive after they’d already seen the journals.”

“Eric Kahn?” Alison asks. “Why was he in the Dollhouse? What did we ever do to him?”

“Oh, Alison,” her husband replies, a twisted note of fondness in his voice. “You always think it’s about you, don’t you?”

“When someone tries to lock me in an underground prison?” Alison asks. “Yes, I’m very vain. I do assume that’s personal.”

“It was Cece who brought Eric into the fold,” Wren explains. 

“She recruited him?” Alison asks.

“No,” her husband informs her. “She turned him down. He wanted a relationship with her, but she rebuffed him in favor of - shall we say - other pursuits.”

“So he decided to join the He-Man Woman Hater’s Club?” Aria asks.

“Not exactly,” Rollins says, checking the windows to make sure no one is outside. “He wired his cabin for revenge porn. He worked with the N.A.T. club and on a few other low level projects over the years. He was just supposed to be down there getting the rooms ready the day you all invaded. Not a soldier, that one. Not a thinker. But what can I say? Good help is hard to find.”

“How hard?” Spencer asks. “This must have been bigger than the two of you. Was it the Carissimi Group? Did they send you an endless supply of foot soldiers?”

Rollins laughs in her face. “They didn’t need to. You girls always supplied us quite handsomely with helpers.” 

“What are you talking about?” Emily asks. “Who helped you?”

“I’d love to give you the full list,” Rollins answers snidely, “But we are supposed to be killing you now.”

“Exactly,” Hanna says, turning to Wren. “You’re so smart. This is just like the end of a mystery novel. I want to know how you did it all before we die.”

“Think about it,” Wren tells her, clearly delighted by her interest. “All the men you cast aside. You gorgeous, careless creatures. You could make them fall in love in the blink of an eye. You laughed at their jokes, you led them on. You kissed them. And then you tore their hearts into little pieces and insisted you wanted to be just friends. Because you thought you deserved something better. Or because you prized your friendship with each other over relationships with them.”

“Their names barely matter. Andrew. Ben. Colin. Dean. Ezra Fitz. Gabriel Holbrook. Ian. I could go on, there’s a whole alphabet full of them. Jonny. Lorenzo. Travis. Wesley. How easy it is, to persuade a man to stand outside his ex-lover’s window and watch her. He tells himself he’s protecting her. He’s keeping an eye on her. He’s there standing in the shadows waiting for her to see him and fall madly in love.” 

“They didn’t all help you,” Spencer says, disgusted.

“They helped enough,” Wren shrugs. “Keeping tabs on you. Stealing little things from your bedrooms. Writing nasty texts to try and keep you in line. They didn’t know they were part of an experiment, of course. The right glove doesn’t need to know what the left glove is doing.”

Dr. Rollins pulls a set of syringes out of Wren’s medical bag. “Potassium chloride,” he says. “It will be quick. The least I can do, after all you’ve shown us.”

“I trusted you,” Alison says, her voice full of venom.

“Oh please,” Rollins says with a wave of his hand. “You’ve never trusted anyone but yourself.”

Emily feels Alison reach for her hand, but she misses. Or maybe not. Her hand isn’t reaching for Emily’s hand, it’s reaching for the locking mechanism of Emily’s handcuffs, with a bobby pin between her fingers.

“What you’re doing,” Spencer says, stalling for time. “It’s immoral. What kind of scientist would spend years on an experiment that can never be discussed in the light of day?”

Emily casts a quick look down the table and realizes that Spencer must have freed her hands first, then passed the pick down to Alison, who has also managed to free herself and now Emily. 

“What is morality?” Rollins asks, pushing the plunger on the first syringe to test the stream of fluid. “Except a word that stands in the way of progress? The Germans didn’t bother about morality, and look at how much we learned.”

“You’re talking about Nazis?” Aria exclaims. “You two really are crazy.”

“No one condones what they did,” Rollins continues. “But we don’t ignore the knowledge they gained, do we?”

Fifteen seconds later, Emily feels the cuff loosen. She’s free. She glances at Spencer to see if they’ll be any kind of signal for action.

“Why did you try to choke me,” Alison asks Wren. “Why did you throw me off that boat if you needed me for your experiment?”

“Maybe I was testing you,” he replies. “We needed to know your strength.”

“He’s lying,” Rollins says, his eyes flashing. “He liked you. He wanted to spare you. He has a terrible weakness for women.”

“It’s not a weakness to be fond of people!” Wren argues. “And I still say we don’t need to kill them. Take Hanna! We should keep her alive at least until the baby comes. And Aria! Ezra Fitz would ransom her - pick any amount you like, he’d pay! It could help fund our project, even if Carissimi is getting cold feet.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” his father says sternly. He points at Spencer. “That’s the one you want, isn’t it? Holdover from being a twin, I suppose. Always wanting a matched set.”

There’s a thud from outside. Rollins peers out the window quickly, but sees nothing. 

“We’ve dawdled long enough,” he announces. “You take the boys, I’ll get the girls.”

Wren takes a syringe and moves towards Caleb and Jason. 

Dr. Rollins approaches Alison. “I’m sorry it has to end like this, darling. Till death do us part takes on a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?”

Spencer nods at Emily, who grabs a dinner plate and breaks it against Rollins’ face. 

Wren turns at the noise, and Spencer leaps up and throws a foot against the back of his knee knocking him hard into the ground. His syringe skitters across the floor. 

Alison makes a grab for the knife Wren had been using to eat, as Emily claws at Rollins’ wrist, trying to get him to drop the lethal injection he’s still clutching determinedly in his hand. 

Spencer and Wren are rolling around fighting for the upper hand. Alison comes up with the knife just as Rollins knocks Emily against the wall hard enough to break her grip.

Alison starts circling him with the knife, as he moves to put the table between them, keeping her at a distance and getting further away from Emily, who’s picking herself up off the ground. He pauses to kick Spencer hard in the head, allowing Wren to roll on top of her and gain the upper hand. 

“I will kill you,” Alison says. 

“Perhaps,” her husband replies. “But it will be too late for Miss Marin.” He brushes the hand holding the syringe against Hanna’s ear. “One more step, Miss Fields, and you can say goodbye to your best friend. Now be a good little girl and drop the knife, darling.”

Hanna, still handcuffed to her chair, turns her head towards Rollins’ hand. She opens her mouth as if to plead for her life, then bites down hard on his hand. He drops the syringe just as a leg sweeps his feet out from beneath him. It’s Wren, wrestling Spencer in a choke hold, but apparently still determined to make his argument against killing the girls. Emily grabs the handcuffs off her chair and goes to help Spencer, hitting Wren over the back of the head with an antique croquet mallet that Spencer herself had mounted on the wall during her first barn renovation project. 

He falls to the ground as Rollins’ fingers close around the dropped syringe and he starts to rise. Alison puts the knife against his throat as Emily tries to handcuff him, but he borrows a page from Emily’s book and grabs Aria’s full plate of food and hits Alison across the face.

Alison is thrown off balance as he advances towards her. Spencer tries to kneecap him with Emily’s discarded croquet mallet, but he dodges and kicks it out of her hand. Emily lunges for his feet, but he falls forward, taking Alison down with him. She’s trying to grab for the syringe as he tries to grab for her knife - Emily looks around for another weapon and finds the syringe that Wren dropped in his tussle with Spencer. 

She doesn’t hesitate. She moves swiftly to where he and Alison are locked in combat on the floor. She has the syringe an inch away from his neck when the barn is suddenly flooded with light and noise.

“Drop your weapons,” a loud authoritative voice commands

Rollins looks up, his expression a mixture of shock and fury.

“Federal agent,” the voice declares, accompanied by the sound of a safety being unlocked. “Drop your weapons, now!” Emily drops the syringe and stands back with her hands up.

The muzzle of a gun advances towards Dr. Rollins’ right temple. 

A swarm of people wearing blue jackets with the letters FBI emblazoned on the back are rushing into the barn. Clark Wilkins handcuffs the man formerly known as Wren Kingston as other agents rush to unlock Hanna and Aria.

“Get the necklace,” their leader commands, her gun still trained on Dr. Rollins.

“Agent Cooper?” Hanna says incredulously, as she recognizes the woman carefully unclasping the moonstones from her neck. 

Cooper smiles and nods. “We’ve got it all,” she announces, examining the jewelry. “Audio and video.”

“Drop your weapon,” Melissa Hastings orders again, her lipstick perfect as she bares her teeth and presses her Glock against Dr. Rollins’ ear. “Or I will blow your brains out, you little bitch.”


	60. My Sister's Keeper

Spencer is standing at the window of her old bedroom, watching the police tape in the yard flutter in the wind. A small army of FBI agents are swarming around collecting bags of evidence. 

She feels like the whole world has gone mad. Like they’ve all fallen down a rabbit hole together. She remembers the look of appalled admiration on Wren’s face when he came to and found himself a prisoner, the way he pleaded confusedly with Melissa in his British accent, promising to marry her for real this time if she’d just let him go. Mona standing outside the barn door and stomping on Rollins’ foot with one of her metal spike heels as they led him away in handcuffs. Her mother breaking through the perimeter to shout case law for the federal death penalty at the pair of them as Rollins limped towards the back of a squad car. Bethany swearing that her name was Sara Harvey, that she’d been kidnapped by the bad men, which might have worked better if she hadn’t also tried to escape by gassing the agent who was interviewing her.

There is a polite knock against the open door frame, and Spencer turns to see Melissa standing there, her blue and yellow FBI windbreaker unsnapped, her gun and holster just visible under her shoulder. 

“Why?” Spencer says, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would have told the other Liars” Melissa says. “Not right away, maybe. But eventually. And from there - I’m sorry, Spence, but there wouldn’t have been any way to guarantee it would stay a secret. The best way to keep you safe was to lie to you.”

“But Mona knew, right? You trusted her more than your own sister.”

Melissa sighs a familiar exasperated sigh. “Because _you_ trust Mona. And there’s nothing that girl wouldn’t do to protect Hanna. She was my best chance to know what was really going on with you.”

“How long?” Spencer asks. “How many years has it been since I’ve known who you were, Melissa?”

Her sister answers with a hint of her usual bitchy tone, “As long as it took to save your life! Which, by the way, I haven’t heard a ‘thank you’ for, yet.”

“I thought I’d send you a thank you note,” Spencer says, with a small half-smile. 

“God,” Melissa responds. “Remember how Mom used to make us sit at the dining room table for hours after Christmas dinner?”

“And wouldn’t let us play with any of our new stuff until we’d finished writing out thank yous to every great aunt who sent us a frilly nightgown?”

“And then Dad would give an extra present to whoever had the best penmanship.” 

Spencer tries to hold back the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and throws her arms around Melissa’s neck. “I thought I lost you.”

Her sister hugs her tightly. “Never,” Melissa says. She rubs her hand on Spencer’s back, like she used to do when they were little and Spencer would cry at the end of The Little Prince. “It’s over, Spencer. For real this time.”

“Is it?” Spencer asks. “Did you get the founder of the Carissimi Group? Is it Ezra Fitz? Or the King of Swords?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Melissa assures her. “We went into the Dollhouse the moment Mona got you all out of sight. We have everything - all the notebooks, the maze, the evidence from the new rooms. Wren is going to want a deal, we have everything he said tonight on tape. And we took Rhys Matthews into custody an hour ago. Clark has been trying to flip him for years, but now that we have him cold on Carissimi’s involvement with human trafficking - one way or another, we’ll get the name. Even if I have to bitch slap a few people myself.”

“Why did you seal the Dollhouse?” Spencer asks, sitting down on her old bed. “It made Tanner think we were crazy!”

Melissa sits beside her. “Please, do I need to count down how many of Rosewood’s less-than-finest have been involved in this whole thing, one way or another? I prefer my evidence secure and my polygraphs undoctored.”

“Did you catch Eric Kahn?”

“No,” Melissa frowns. “He slithered out an emergency tunnel, but Carissimi got ahold of him the second he left the hospital. He was one of the bodies in the car tonight. We think the other one was a medical school cadaver--one of Wren’s favorite tricks--but we’re still trying to confirm.”

“They said they had dental records.”

“Those guys switch dental records like Hanna switches outfits.”

“That’s how they made everyone think that body was Bethany, right? But Holbrook - he said you called in the tip on her identity. Why did you do that, if you killed whoever was in that grave?”

“Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?” Melissa says, rolling her eyes a little. “Would you ever - no matter how upset or drugged up you were - start throwing dirt over a body without at least checking for a pulse?”

“No.”

“Then why would you believe I would? Jesus! Wren needed to throw them off the trail of whatever Alison clone they buried back there. He wanted everyone to believe Bethany was dead so she could keep helping them. I made the call to show him I was on his side, that I was willing to lie to the cops for him. And it worked.” 

“So you were working for the FBI the whole time you were with him?”

Melissa hesitates before she answers. “No,” she admits. “Not at first.”

“No more secrets,” Spencer insists. “I want to know everything.”

“I caught Ian videotaping girls at the Kahn cabin. I threatened him, told him I’d go straight to the police. And I did. I told Garrett Reynolds and I left town, I went up to Cape May for a few weeks. I figured Ian would be arrested by the time I got back.”

“But he wasn’t. Because Garrett was N.A.T. too.”

“Exactly,” Melissa agrees with a sigh. “Meanwhile, I was celebrating my freedom and fell right into their trap.”

“Their trap?” Spencer asks. “What did they do to you?”

Melissa looks like she’s steeling herself before she answers, fighting against her own sadness or humanity or embarrassment. “They got me on video. I hooked up was with - someone I thought I could trust. But the next thing I knew, Wilden was holding a sex tape over my head.”

“Oh my god,” Spencer says, imagining how their parents would have reacted. She cringes a little over how she might have reacted back then, pictures how Ali would have gloated over perfect Melissa caught up in something so tawdry.

“I know,” Melissa says. “He told me to keep my mouth shut, or else it was going to be all over the internet instead of just in the private N.A.T. jerk off collection.”

“So you were trying to get back?” Spencer asks. “When you followed Ian to Hilton Head? When you were in Alison’s room that night?”

“And after all that, Ian didn’t even have it. But he dumped me for cheating on him!”

“What a fucking prince,” Spencer mutters.

“I didn’t know what else to do, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let those little twerps win. So I called an old friend from U Penn who’d been recruited by the Bureau. Between the child pornography and police corruption, they were definitely interested. And then Alison went missing, and they made me a confidential informant. I was meeting with them a lot, I think Mom and Dad were getting suspicious.” Melissa runs a hand through her hair, which falls perfectly back into place.

“They told me to act like everything was normal, to let Wilden keep blackmailing me so they could find out more about what the N.A.T. guys were up to. Everything was quiet at first. Then Wilden got spooked. Maybe he heard something at the station. There were all these rumors that Jason wanted to offer a big reward or bring in the FBI to find out what happened.”

“He decided to go with a ‘keep your enemies closer’ strategy, and pushed me into that courthouse wedding with Ian so they could make sure I was keeping quiet.”

“I knew you’d never have gone for a courthouse wedding on your own!”

“Exactly,” Melissa scoffs. “No ice sculptures? No swing band? You might as well get married in a dumpster. I mean, I could have drawn the line and said no, but I really thought he might have hurt Alison. That he might hurt you if we didn’t stop them.” She stands up and starts pacing as she continues.

“Cooper and Randall made a big show of coming to town and then leaving quickly once it looked like Toby was on the hook for Alison. But once they left, I still had to deal with Ian night and day. He was playing the happy husband, and I was playing the happy wife. I think he forgot it was an act, sometimes. He thought it was true love, even if he had to force me into it.”

“But you always defended him!” Spencer says.

“What was I supposed to do? You were sixteen and trying to go after a grown man who might have killed one of your best friends! I was trying to discourage you any way I could! He was living in our house to keep tabs on you as much as on me.”

“That hit and run,” Spencer says. “It wasn’t an accident was it?”

“No,” Melissa confirms. “It was Ian--trying to either kill you or get you sent away for hurting me.”

She idly runs a finger over the books in Spencer’s bookcase, picking out a battered copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ and thinking about when she used to read it to her sister at bedtime.

“But he’d gone rogue,” she continues. “He didn’t know they needed you for something bigger. He was warned. And then when he tried to kill you again in the church, they took him out.”

“Garrett was really upset about it. He was the weakest link, he didn’t have the stomach for murder. He was a really chivalrous guy for a lowlife peeping tom. He decided to turn against his partners. All those doctor’s appointments he was taking me to were so we could meet with my handlers.”

“Let me guess,” Spencer says. “Wilden got suspicious, and decided to set Garrett up for Alison and Maya.”

“And then when that didn’t stick, he killed him,” Melissa agrees. “Wilden tried to blackmail me again, to help him dispose of the body, but then Aria got him in the leg just in time.”

“Killing a police officer, even a pathetic shady one like Garrett, it’s capital murder. And then when Wren came back around - the Bureau took Mom and I to that retreat and offered me a chance to come on board for real. To go through special training whenever I could get away. To go undercover in my own life.”

“So Mom knew? All along?”

“She tried to discourage me. She thought it was too dangerous. She knew they made the offer, but I lied. I told her I turned them down. That’s why I tried to hide it from her when I started to get close to him again.”

“I don’t understand. Why did they make the offer with Mom there in the first place?”

“Because,” Melissa explains, “Mom was Wren’s original target.”


	61. Hastings Family Values

Downstairs, Veronica Hastings is piling chocolate chip cookies onto a plate as she waits for the kettle to boil. It feels strange to be back in this kitchen, the cupboards full of Melissa’s dishes, the tea on a different shelf in the pantry, the hot chocolate hidden behind a wall of rice cakes.

But at least the young women sprawled out across the living room furniture are the same. She sees Alison whisper something to Emily, who smiles and squeezes her hand. It’s so familiar, as if they’re still telling secrets and trading lip gloss and passing notes in study hall. Except the secrets aren’t the harmless currency of childhood anymore. She can remember walking into the room once to a burst of giggling and laughter over Aria’s crush on Noel Kahn. The kettle whistles, and she looks at Aria as she pours the boiling water into mugs. 

The girl seems to be dressed as a winged version of Courtney Love, but she’s perched on the arm of the couch running her fingers through Jason’s hair as she examines his stitches in a way that warrants a raised eyebrow at Peter, who smiles and shrugs before handing off some paperwork to Agent Randall.

She hears Spencer and Melissa walking down the stairs.

“That coffee table in your apartment is adorable!” Melissa says. “Italian?””

“Custom. We made it. I found the design on pinterest, I can send you the link.”

“That would be incredible. Now that Wren is gone, I can redo the whole house top to bottom.”

“Have you seen the new Bellissimo wallpaper line? Chelsea Clinton has it in her downstairs half bath, and it would be perfect with the light in the upstairs hallway.”

“I thought you said Chelsea Clinton was a moron.”

“She is! But a moron with really nice wallpaper.”

Veronica smiles as she listens, watching Peter take the plate of cookies and passing them around. Hanna Marin takes three, and Caleb takes two more that Veronica is sure are also for his wife. She hands around the mugs of tea and cocoa.

“Are you with the FBI, too?” Spencer demands.

“Girls, could you give us a moment?” Peter requests.

“Of course,” Emily agrees, quickly. “Maybe we could find some clothes to borrow upstairs and change of our costumes.” Alison looks like she wants to argue the point and stay to hear the whole story, but Emily manages to drag her off.

Hanna grabs another cookie and Aria takes off her wings before they all tromp up the stairs together, for all the world as if it’s nothing but another sleepover party, except for Caleb and Jason trailing along in their wake, Veronica thinks.

She waits until she hears their footsteps at the top of the stairs, then begins.

“Your father and I have been working the case with the U.S. Attorney’s office.”

“Seriously?” Spencer exclaims. 

“What?” Veronica asks her daughter. “You think you’re the only one in this family who can investigate things?”

“Obviously not,” Spencer mutters, as she takes a cookie for herself.

“I was doing pro bono work for a women’s crisis center,” her mother explains. “The winter after Alison disappeared. A young woman - a girl, really - was in trouble over some small time drug possession charges. She told me an incredible story about escaping from a mental institution that was little more than a front for bizarre psychological experiments and human trafficking. It sounded ludicrous, of course, and she had a history of psychological issues, but she also had names and dates, solid evidence.”

She sips her tea and looks over at her husband. 

“You mother sketched out the general outline of the case to me,” Peter says. “And I put her in touch with one of my contacts at the U.S. Attorney’s office. I’d just reamed him on a flimsy insider trading case they brought against one of my clients - got it dismissed with a public apology - and I figured he could use a win.”

“The poor man,” Veronica says. “He had no idea what he was getting into. None of us did.”

“From the start, it was clear that this was a large scale operation,” Peter continues. “Like an onion, there was always another layer underneath. Girls being brought in from Eastern Europe, funneled in through Mexican cartels, some with medical visas for treatments followed by abrupt disappearances.”

“Including my client,” Veronica says ruefully. “The day before her interview with them, she went missing. I had copious notes, all the details she’d provided, but without her testimony, it would lose most of its value. And I didn’t want to break privilege, in the event that she’d simply decided not to testify. So I did the only thing I could do. I started investigating myself.”

“Like mother, like daughters,” Peter says, fondly.

“All of a sudden,” Spencer says, “Everyone in my family is a spy.” 

“Not very good spies, I’m afraid,” Veronica says. “They must have realized what I was up to fairly quickly. My tires were slashed. My office was broken into. It didn’t phase me. But then the more I dug into it, the more frequently Radley kept turning up. Like a bad penny. I knew Jessica had been a board member there for years, so I reached out to her.”

“I couldn’t say too much, but I think the tone of some of my questions put her on her guard. She may have started poking around herself, or mentioned the call to someone she worked with over there. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so direct, but I had a lot on my mind. I was having a health scare, at the time. One night, I went to a doctor’s appointment in Philadelphia to have some lab work done. I was so afraid to find out the results that I went into a bar across from the hospital and sat there for hours, drinking alone. And then, not alone. This charming young man, a medical student from England, struck up a conversation.” She closes her eyes, as if she wishes she could shut out the memory. “It was not my finest hour,” she summarizes. “Especially when someone sent an envelope full of 8x10s to my office.”

“I redoubled my efforts, I wasn’t going to be run off a case by the petulant antics of these little man children who were preying on disenfranchised girls. I expect they thought the threat of sending the pictures to Peter would be enough to dissuade me.”

Peter coughs uncomfortably, before adding, “Apparently they didn’t know as much as they thought they did. Then.”

“I kept at it until the moment I came home to find Wren Kingston installed in the barn, engaged to Melissa. His dalliance with Spencer was a test run, meant to show me how much damage he could do to our family.”

“But how?” Spencer asks. “Once they had broken up?”

“Do you not remember how tense it was in this house in the aftermath of that little disaster? Can you imagine if they’d pulled the trigger and exposed my previous involvement with him? They had the right pressure point that time. It would have torn this family apart entirely.”

“I was actually relieved when Ian arrived back on the scene. I had no idea about those disgusting videos, or the police corruption, or that Melissa was being blackmailed, as well. Although in hindsight, one or the other of them was almost always hanging around you girls, keeping an eye on us all. Wren was back on the scene before Ian was even cold.”

“It was right around then that my colleague from the U.S. Attorney’s office gave me a call,” Peter says. “He’d been looking into some of the allegations that Veronica had initially passed along, and discovered that Wren Kingston wasn’t who he said he was. He passed his information along to a friend at the F.B.I., who found it difficult to believe that two major cases - three, counting Alison’s disappearance - centered around Rosewood could be unconnected. Which led to our family meeting with several federal agencies at the resort that weekend.”

“Yes, a relaxing family weekend,” Veronica deadpans. “My daughter confessed to faking her pregnancy and I admitted to being seduced by her unscrupulous ex-fiance before he proposed. But the condition of the golf course was pristine.” 

“They were certain that Wren was the link between the mental hospital trafficking and the child pornography videos,” Melissa says, picking up the story. “But it’s incredibly difficult to build a case against someone when all you have is their latest alias. We wanted to try and trace him all the way back to the beginning, find out what else he’d been up to along the way.”

“Your sister agreed to work for the F.B.I.,” Peter says, proudly. “In spite of the danger. She had first hand knowledge of how ruthless these predators could be, and she wanted to keep you as safe from them as she could, Spencer.”

“You didn’t make it easy, either,” Melissa complains. “I swear, you and the rest of your Number One Ladies’ Detective agency hardly ever went a whole week without nearly getting killed.” 

“We were all trying to circle the wagons around you, Spencer, in our own ways. Even if doing so kept us away so much of the time. Knowing what I know now, of course, we would have been more effective if we had locked you in your room and sat outside the door with a shotgun.”

“I would have climbed out the window,” Spencer assures them.

“I know,” Veronica sighs. “That was always the problem. You were so secretive. We had no idea about the campaign of targeted harassment against you. And - foolishly, as it turns out - Mona’s story of high school bullying seemed quite plausible at the time.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Spencer says.

“Open communication has never been our family’s strong suit,” Peter replies.

“I lied to Mom,” Melissa says. “Like I told you. And I lied to Dad, too, until that night you were arrested. I nearly blew my cover. I wanted to pull rank on Tanner and get you released. But Dad said he could get you out without it looking suspicious.”

“I was furious when I found out,” Veronica says, a note of anger in her voice, even now. “I thought your father and I had agreed, after the truth came out, not to involve either of you in our determination to get to the bottom of things. Melissa being blackmailed into one sham of a marriage was quite enough. It was far too dangerous, with too many unknowns in play.”

“Welcome to my life,” Spencer quips. “But you and Dad, you were still on the case?”

“We never stopped working it,” Peter explains. “I’m a lawyer, not a detective, but I hired the best, most discreet investigators I could find.”

“Like you did when Alison went missing,” Spencer replies. 

“Yes,” Peter says. “Exactly.”

“For godsakes, Peter,” his wife says, exasperatedly. “Haven’t we learned anything the past eight years?”

Peter Hastings takes his wife’s hand and looks at his daughters. He nods.

“Girls,” Veronica announces. “Your father has something he needs to tell you.”

\--------

Upstairs, Spencer’s old bed is piled with a hodgepodge of clothes. Hanna is pawing through the combination of items from Spencer’s high school wardrobe and a few pieces snagged from a box of Melissa’s old maternity clothes.

She examines a polka dotted shirt closely. “I think this was mine,” she mutters, tossing it to back onto the pile. 

“I’ll take it,” Alison says. “I love Spencer. But honestly? It looks like J. Crew threw up in here.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Aria asks, sitting cross legged on the floor.

Emily shrugs as she tries on Spencer’s old field hockey jersey. “Melissa’s with the FBI. Her parents are probably in the CIA.”

“Or the NSA,” Alison agrees. 

“Or they’re super heroes,” Hanna suggests. “Lawyers by day and Vigilante Avengers by night.”

“Speaking of super heroes,” Emily says. “I never saw Bethany coming. I’d be a pin cushion of stab wounds if you and Mona hadn’t gotten there when you did.”

“Don’t remind me,” Hanna replies, pulling on sweatpants and an oversized pink Cape May sweatshirt. “I saw Mona and Noel start running. I looked at where they were heading and caught sight of the knife.”

“They started running because I texted Noel,” Alison says. “I saw Bethany on the cameras, but the radios weren’t working.”

“You were still working with Noel?” Aria asks, horrified. “He could have been the Kahn brother with the leg wound!”

“You guys made a plan that hinged on Mona, Lucas, and Jenna! Two people I treated like dirt and one person I actually blinded! I told you I hated that plan. I wanted Noel as a back up.”

Hanna gives Emily a significant look. “Why do you trust him so much?”

“He’s my friend. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have done it a million times when I was on the run. He’s had my back since high school, and ever since - we have a lot in common,” Ali replies. “We understand each other.”

Hanna nods, but her eyebrows are still furrowed in a way that shows she isn’t entirely convinced. 

“It’s not like that, Hanna,” Alison says, in the same withering tone she used in her Queen B days. “He uses too much product in his hair. And he’s not Emily.”

\--------

Downstairs, Spencer and Melissa are wearing identical expressions of raised eyebrow, open mouthed shock.

Before either of them can find words to respond to their father, Agent Cooper hurries into the room.

“Hastings,” she says urgently. “Rhys Matthews just gave up the head of the Carissimi Group.”

\----------

The Liars hear the clatter of multiple footsteps running up the stairs. Spencer’s voice carries over the din, “It’s a mistake! He’s playing you! Melissa, he’s lying!”

Alison throws the door open in time to see Agent Cooper and Melissa flanked by two other agents moving quickly down the hallway with their guns drawn. The rest of the Hastings follow in their wake.

Caleb and Jason peer curiously out from the doorway of the master bedroom, clad in a mix of clothes left behind by Peter and Wren.

Emily instinctively pushes Alison behind her, but the agents march past them.

“Keep your hands where we can see them,” Agent Cooper barks.

“It’s over,” Melissa says in a harsh voice. “Jason DiLaurentis, we’re taking you into custody.”


	62. The Records Show

“It’s not him!” Alison insists, after a perplexed looking Jason has been cuffed and led away, over the furious protests of Spencer, Alison, and Peter Hastings. 

“Of course it’s not,” Spencer snaps. She takes a deep breath and squeezes Alison’s shoulder. “My dad - he won’t let anything happen to Jason.”

“Except for being arrested and accused of secretly being the head of an evil corporation that’s mixed up in child porn, human trafficking, murder, and human experimentation,” Hanna says.

“He and my mom are following the caravan to the FBI regional offices in Philadelphia, they’ll handle it,” Spencer promises. 

“Meanwhile, whoever is really in charge of Carissimi is still out there,” Aria says worriedly.

“We need to find the archives,” Caleb declares. 

“There has to be something there that can prove Jason’s innocent,” Spencer agrees. 

Their discussion is interrupted by the familiar ping of simultaneous text messages on all their phones. 

“Found the archives,” Hanna reads aloud.

“Basement of Radley,” Spencer continues.

“King of Swords just went in.” Aria says.

“Get here now, bitches,” Emily finishes.

“ChArlotte and MonA!” Alison exclaims. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

\----------

“Do we have a plan?” Emily asks, squashed into the back seat of Caleb’s car with Hanna, Alison, and Aria as Spencer runs her fourth red light in five minutes and careens onto the road to Radley. Emily can’t tell if she’s being carelessly aggressive or hoping to attract a police escort.

“Do we need one?” Hanna asks. “Because I’m thinking rip the mask off, then gauge his eyeballs out.”

“Gouge,” Spencer corrects her.

“Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to,” Hanna grouses. “The point is, he’d have no eyes.”

“I like it,” Alison agrees mildly. 

“Seriously, though,” Aria interjects, as Spencer takes a turn so hard that she’s thrown across the back seat into Alison’s lap. “It would be nice to have some weapons!”

“This bastard is behind everything that’s ever happened to us,” Spencer says darkly. “We are the weapon.”

\------------

Spencer flips her headlights off as they approach the drive to Radley Sanitarium. 

She cuts the engine and coasts the last hundred feet to park just outside the forbidding black iron gates, gates that have a broken padlock swinging by a single hinge. A black sedan with tinted windows is parked by the door to the East Wing. 

Three hooded figures run out of the shadows as the Liars pile out of the car. A dim half moon casts just enough light to make out the features of Charlotte and Mona. Paige McCullers pulls down her hood as she reaches Spencer, a few tufts of white hair from her fake Neptune beard still clinging to her right cheek.

Spencer puts her hands on Paige’s cheeks and pulls her in for a kiss that goes on for so long that Alison has to tap Spencer on the shoulder impatiently.

“We’re here to catch a bad guy,” Mona admonishes. “Not to watch you two make out.”

“Like that ever bothered you before,” Spencer hisses back.

“Focus,” Emily reminds them. “Are you sure he’s in there?”

“I did a little recon,” Charlotte reports. “Through the windows. Someone is down there moving barrels. And there are rows and rows of records.”

“Barrels are never good,” Hanna mutters.

“He got here maybe thirty minutes ago,” Paige adds. “When Mona told me about your plan to find out who Wren was taking orders from, I decided to put a tracker on every car parked within three blocks of the Carissimi building. I figured one of them would be his.”

“How could you tell which one?” Caleb asks. “You can’t follow three hundred cars all at once.”

“This one has been following you from a distance ever since Tanner hauled you in,” Paige explains. “I would have called Melissa, but we can’t prove anything yet. Except that he’s wearing a mask and following you.”

“And now hanging around abandoned former asylums owned by the Carissimi Group in the middle of the night,” Hanna adds.

“Wait, you’ve been working with Mona and Melissa?” Spencer asks Paige. 

“I saw those pictures of Mike picking up a drop,” Paige explains. “I was part of Mona’s army, remember? I knew whatever he was picking up must have been for her. And Melissa was always around back then. They worked together before. So I figured they might still be working together now. And if Mona was on our side -”

“Then so was Melissa,” Spencer concludes. “This is why I love you.”

“Because she’s smarter than you?” Mona asks curiously. 

“Enough with the talking,” Spencer glares. “You were right the first time. We need to move. Caleb, Mona, Paige - you guys guard the perimeter. We’ll go in and -”

“No,” Caleb says.

“He’s right,” Paige agrees. “There’s no keeping us at a safe distance anymore.”

“I’m with the hobo,” Mona says. “We’re in this together. It’s our fight, too.”

“Alright,” Alison says. “Let’s go. Let’s get some answers.”

\----------

Paige leads them to the door of the East Wing, which is still unlocked.

Quickly and quietly, the others follow her inside. A faint chemical smell reaches their nostrils as they descend the stairs to the basement. A single bare bulb is illuminating a small square patch of light at the far end of the space. It swings back and forth from an unstable fixture, casting an eerie array of shadows that seem to dance towards them across the tile floor. 

All of the flotsam and jetsam that the asylum years had washed up down here has been removed, replaced by rows and rows of metal shelving, twelve feet high, filled with box after box of records. Lined up like soldiers in a row, Emily thinks. So precise. And so many of them.

They can hear a clanging sound, as if someone is rolling a heavy metal barrel along the floor.

This is really it, Hanna thinks, her heart pounding. She looks around at her friends, sees her own grave determination reflected in each one of their faces. 

Whoever it is, Caleb thinks. This ends tonight. 

Aria imagines plucking petals from a bright yellow flower. It will be Ezra. It won’t be Ezra. He loved me. He loves me not. 

Alison’s mind is blank. She’s been fighting nameless terrors for so long, an actual ending seems impossible. She has no expectation about the face under the mask. It will be another mask. Just like always.

My family, Spencer thinks. My foundation. He framed Jason. He was giving Charlotte orders. He’s been watching them all along. It’s Ezra. It has to be. He’s the final answer.

Paige holds up a hand for them to stop. She points at the King of Swords’ elaborate mask propped up against the wall. The light hits it in such a way that it almost looks alive, looks like it’s mocking them. The blue and gold doublet is folded underneath it on the floor.

He’s here, Emily thinks. The mask is finally off.

There’s another clang, another barrel being rolled across the floor. Emily feels Alison’s fingernails suddenly digging into her arm as he comes into view.

He’s wearing khaki pants and a blue button down dress shirt. He looks absolutely normal and chillingly familiar. 

Someone - maybe Charlotte, Emily thinks - takes a sharp breath. It’s enough for him to hear. The founder of the Carissimi Group turns toward them.

He smiles. And his smile looks like it always has. Like he’s wearing a chef’s hat at the neighborhood barbeque, getting ready to ask if they want hamburgers or hotdogs from the grill.

The man behind it all is finally in front of them. It’s Kenneth DiLaurentis.


	63. The Brute, Brute Heart of a Brute Like You

Spencer feels frozen in place. She thinks they should tackle him. Tie him up. Kick him until they can hear his ribs crack. But somehow all she can do is stand here and feel her brain whirling around inside her skull like it’s a lock trying to get its pins in the right place.

“Why?” Alison asks, in a voice so child like that Emily thinks she can almost hear the layers of Ali’s usual armor cracking under the weight of one secret too many. The heaviest, most massive one of all. “Why would you do this?”

“For my family,” her father answers. “Obviously.”

“What family?” Charlotte asks. “You locked me up and threw away the key!”

“I tried to fix you,” Kenneth answers, his face red with all the old anger as he looks at her. “You were my son! I thought I could find a doctor who could do something - treat you! Make you normal! Make you the kind of boy a father could be proud of!”

“Reparative therapy,” Emily whispers, aghast. 

Kenneth looks at her with disgust. “Dr. Rollins understood what I needed. He was one of the only psychiatrists doing serious work on retraining the human brain, correcting its more noxious impulses. But he needed funding. I started Carissimi for you, Charles. I wanted the best for my beloved son.”

“Don’t call her that,” Hanna says. “You’re the one who was sick, not her! You’re supposed to love the kids you have, not hire mad scientists to try and make them into the ones you want.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenneth spits. “It was too late for him. The best Rollins could do was offer electroshock treatment for Jason, until he believed his brother never existed. It was kinder that way. I kept funding the work. I thought it might help other fathers, someday. And it was lucrative. Churches, politicians - a lot of people were eager to buy the details of our research.”

“What about me?” Alison whispers, her voice breaking. “Did you know what they were doing to me? To my friends?”

“Don’t talk to me about your friends,” her father snaps, in the same tone he used to use with Jason when he found him passed out on the lawn. “You were perfect, Alison. My perfect little princess. Until you met them.”

“Until she met us?” Aria asks, flashing back to her mother’s own lectures on Alison being a bad influence on them all.

“She met you,” Kenneth snarls. “All of you. And suddenly she was flirting with older boys and wearing barely there bikinis and stealing vodka from the liquor cabinet and sneaking out of the house and lying to me!”

“That’s called puberty,” Paige says incredulously. 

“No!” Kenneth says angrily. “It’s called turning into her mother!”

“You wanted to stop her,” Mona tells him in a calming voice. “I get it. She was turning into a bad girl. You were just being a good father.”

“I was!” he says. “All I wanted was for her to be a good girl! But she was out of control! I caught Ian Thomas in her bedroom with a video camera one night. I smashed the camera and took his computer. He had so many videos. Of all of you, your unnatural attachment to each other. Always strutting around half-naked. Getting drunk at your endless sleepovers!”

He stares at Alison, her hand still clutching Emily’s arm. “And this,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I saw how you looked at each other. Those furtive glances. The hand holding. That stupid soft look you’d get in your eyes!”

“You couldn’t stand it, could you?” Charlotte asks. “The thought of another freak in the family. Is that it?”

“I wanted you to straighten out,” Kenneth tells Alison. “And I wanted to punish your friends. I had them bring Ian and his video project on board with Carissimi. I didn’t let them use any videos that you were in, of course, but the profits were enough for us to invest in more cameras, better technology. I could tap a few keys on the computer and see what you were up to any time I wanted. And the things you were up to, Alison!”

“What did you do?” Alison asks. “What did you do to me?”

“I started sending you text messages. I wanted to frighten you into better behavior. But it only made things worse. You clung to your friends even tighter. Your behavior spiraled to new lows - pursuing Ezra Fitz, letting Emily Fields prey on you for sport!”

The description of Emily as predatory is too much, Spencer feels a chuckle rise in her throat.

“Are you laughing at me?” Kenneth demands. “You’re his daughter through and through.”

“My sister knows where we are,” Spencer tells him. “She’ll be here with her team any minute.”

Kenneth sighs. “I always liked your sister. She was so proper. Such a good role model. I thought she might marry Dr. Kingston. I hoped she might take over for me, someday.”

“You were wrong,” Spencer tells him. “It turns out she’s the best liar of all.”

“No matter,” Kenneth says. “Peter’s idiot son is about to spend the rest of his life in a cell, and once the rest of you are dead, Melissa’s foolishness will be cold comfort to him, I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?” Spencer asks.

“Those cameras,” Kenneth answers. “There was nowhere to hide.” He bangs on the side of one of the barrels. “This is hydrofluoric acid. It’s going to eat through everything. All the records. The shelving. Your bodies.”

“I don’t understand,” Emily protests. “You drove Alison away! She was gone! Why come after us?”

“Because it was your fault,” Kenneth says. “She was pregnant and on the run. A disgrace.”

“So that wasn’t your plan?” Aria asks. “To drive her out of town?”

“Of course not,” he says. “She was supposed to be part of the experiment. But when she didn’t come back, we decided you four would do just as well. Better, even. Wren Kingston had consulted on Miss Vanderwaal’s anxiety and self esteem issues in the past. He used a few drugs to make her more suggestable, gave her little puzzles as a game. He has a good sense of fun. And then the old electroshock therapy when she wound up in Radley in the end, to make sure it wouldn’t be connected back to us.”

Kenneth speaks directly to Alison. “The experiment was supposed to help you! When I knew I couldn’t help you on my own, I asked Dr. Rollins and his son for guidance. I took you to Cape May so they could assess you. I wanted to know what made a woman like Jessica become a woman like Jessica. And how I could stop whatever it was from happening to you.”

“You happened to my mother,” Charlotte says. “You happened to us all! She loved me!”

“She was a whore,” Kenneth sneers. “She was supposed to be mine! But she just couldn’t stop herself from sleeping around, could she? Like a cat in heat.”

He pulls out a crowbar to pry the barrel open as he continues his rant. “ And she lied to me. She told me Charles was dead. She made a fool out of me, hiring you on as Cece Drake!”

“You know, don’t you?” Alison asks. “You know how else she made a fool out of you.”

Spencer glances suddenly at Alison, as Kenneth nods. He’s like someone with food poisoning, throwing up all of his animosity until there’s nothing left but bile. 

The last secret, Spencer thinks. Leave it to Alison to pull the pin out of that grenade and throw herself on top of it.

“I was so happy when you came back” he says, his eyes tearing up a little at the memory. “You were so sweet, so chastened. Like a different person. I thought you’d finally learned your lesson. That you were going to be the kind of young lady I’d be proud to call my daughter.”

His face contorts in rage. “Until you picked up right where you left off. Seducing a detective! Hanging around your friends day and night. Hopping _into bed_ with Emily Fields! That kind of immoral sexual appetite - in my heart, I knew.”

“Knew what?” Hanna asks. “That Alison likes having sex? You know that’s not actually a crime, right?”

“I could barely stand to look at you,” Kenneth says, ignoring Hanna completely as he continues speaking to Alison. “I stayed late at the office, invented trips out of town. I gave them the greenlight on the Dollhouse. On either taking you down there or keeping you in prison. It didn’t matter, as long as I didn’t have to pretend to love you anymore. The only reason I took you out of town when Charles was coming was so I could have a hostage, just in case.”

“I’m the only one,” Charlotte says quietly. “Aren’t I? I’m the only one who was yours.”

Kenneth bangs the crowbar down so hard the metal splits, a rivulet of acid drips out and starts smoking along the floor. 

“I have no children! I had one son! His name was Charles! You - you are a twisted freak of nature! When I look at you, I don’t see my son. I see the grotesque monster that killed him, because he is dead to me!”

He looks at them all, wild eyed. “Look at you all! Don’t you see how abnormal you are? A band of lesbians and loose women and liars!”

“Is that why you wanted a second Dollhouse?” Spencer asks. “To punish us?”

“Why should you get to go on with your lives?” Kenneth asks. “Why do you deserve to be happy when I’ve lost everyone I ever loved?” He prys open the lid of the leaking barrel and the smell of acid gets stronger. Hanna takes a few steps backward, trying not to throw up.

“Your logic is crazy person logic,” Emily says. “We never did anything to you, or to Alison!”

“Oh, I think you’ve done quite enough,” Mr. DiLaurentis says.

“I think you have,” Caleb announces, pulling Peter Hastings’ gun out of his sling and pointing it at Kenneth. “This ends now.”

“If you had the guts to shoot me,” Kenneth scoffs, as he prys open a second barrel. “You would have done it by now.”

“He wanted to make sure we had it all on tape,” Mona says, holding up her cell phone to show that it’s recording.

There’s the sound of a siren faintly in the distance, getting louder, closer. Maybe Spencer wasn’t lying, Emily thinks. Maybe Melissa really is on the way.

Kenneth DiLaurentis makes a move to knock over the first barrel, and Caleb shoots him cleanly through the shoulder. It’s not enough to stop him, as the barrel falls and a rush of acid pours on the floor directly towards the Liars.

“Climb the shelving,” Spencer shouts, but she barely needs to, everyone’s instinct is the same - to try and get out of the way of the smoking liquid that’s eating away at the floor. There’s another noise, Kenneth using his one good arm to overturn the second barrel. The shelving unit starts to sway as the acid works on the floor, destabilizing it. The weight of the Liars climbing on it is enough to make it tip. 

“Throw your weight forward!” Mona yells. The shelving lurches again and falls, away from the acid, knocking against the shelves in the next row and causing them all to topple like dominoes with a colossal bang. 

Boxes and files are falling every which way, it’s like trying to maneuver across the tilting deck of a sinking ship, or scrambling blindly across a set of moving monkey bars as the single light bulb has gone out in the midst of the chaos. 

Caleb is having trouble negotiating the obstacles one handed, he steps on a white file box that won’t hold his weight and Emily hears his foot go through the cardboard. “Go on!” he tries to tell Hanna. But then Mona is there, nimble as a billy goat, pinning the box lid down with one of her sai knives so he can pull his foot out, while steadying himself on Hanna’s shoulder. Mona grabs Hanna hand and carefully talks her through each step until they’re back to the stairs. 

Spencer and Paige are already there, waiting to make sure everyone else is going to make it. Aria is already on the third step, using her phone as a light to check that the acid isn’t about to eat the stairs yet. They can all hear the sizzle and smell the acrid chemical smoke behind them.

“What are they doing?” Mona asks, squinting at the barely visible silhouettes of Alison and Emily, still in the middle of the room, milling about as if they’re searching for something, moving back towards the barrels, away from the relative safety of the door.

“Charlotte!” Alison shouts. “Charlotte!” Emily echoes. “Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Aria whispers. 

“Alison won’t leave without her,” Spencer says.

“And Emily won’t leave Alison,” Hanna says grimly.

“Come on,” Mona says, hopping onto the stairs. “Caleb, get over here.”

“Go ahead,” Hanna says. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Caleb negotiates his way carefully to the stairs, then turns to look at his wife. He holds out his hand, but she doesn’t take it.

Blue and red lights are flashing outside. Caleb nods. “Be careful,” he says. But Hanna is already following Aria and Spencer back into danger.

“Don’t take it personally,” Mona tells him.

“It’s what they do,” Paige agrees.

“What are you waiting for?” Caleb asks. “Go after them already!” He sprints up the stairs to get help as Paige and Mona clamber after the others.

\-----------

“Charlotte!” Alison shouts.

“Over here,” her sister responds, her voice muffled as if she’s lower down, maybe under a layer of boxes.

“To the left,” Emily yells, crawling along a cross beam. She screams as she feels a hand close around her ankle.

“Here!” Charlotte says. “You found me!”

“I’ve got her!” Emily shouts, tossing a few boxes aside. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Are you stuck?”

“I can’t pull him out,” Charlotte cries. “I’m not strong enough.”

Emily fishes her cell phone out of her pocket and shines a beam of light downward. Charlotte is braced in a spiderlike position, her body wedged securely inside the second toppled shelf, with one hand clinging firmly to Kenneth DiLaurentis’ arm.

“Leave him,” Alison says coldly, as she stretches her body out carefully next to Emily. 

“I thought you said killing people was wrong?” Charlotte says through gritted teeth. “And besides, he’s my father.”

“A really shitty father,” Spencer says, stumbling up to them.

“Well, we can’t all be Hastings hybrids,” Charlotte retorts. “He’s unconscious, he can’t hurt us. And I think the acid is eating his shoe.”

“My heart bleeds,” Aria says from behind Spencer. “His shoe might not deserve getting burnt up, but he sure does.”

“Oh for godsakes,” Hanna exclaims. “If we die pulling him out of here, I am haunting every last one of you.”

Emily is already reaching down to get a hand under Kenneth’s wounded shoulder. “I kind of hope his hurts,” she says as Alison braces against Charlotte’s hand. Spencer and Aria put their arms around Alison and Emily.

“What?” Hanna says. “I’m pregnant. I’m not supposed to lift heavy things.” She takes Emily’s phone and holds it up so everyone can see what they’re doing more clearly.

“On the count of three,” Emily says. 

Slowly, they heave Mr. DiLaurentis out of the rubble. Charlotte stays where she is to help push him upward once he’s moving.

“Look out for his shoe,” Alison warns. “It smells like bacon.”

Mona and Paige arrive right as Emily and Alison get Kenneth’s limp torso out. 

“This is what all the fuss was about?” Mona huffs. 

“Less talking,” Charlotte says. “More helping.”

Grudgingly, Paige and Mona each grab a shoulder and wrest him the rest of the way out.

Charlotte climbs up a few seconds later, and together they all half carry, half drag the final ‘A’ across the last battlefield to safety. 


	64. The Morning After

“You again?” Detective Tanner says, rolling her eyes as Caleb bursts out the door of the East Wing. She gestures to a team of police who start heading down the stairs. 

“I had a BOLO alert out on all your vehicles,” she continues. “And Spencer Hastings driving like a bat out of hell, breaking twenty traffic laws to pieces, blowing through at least three red lights on camera - leading us to the scene of a breaking and entering case in progress - I figure there must be something extremely exciting in that basement. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning!”

Caleb actually laughs, and surprises her with a one armed hug. “Honestly, I have never been so happy to see you in my life.”

\--------

“Was that really necessary?” Melissa asks, pouring a giant cup of coffee the next morning.

“Yes,” Spencer answers defiantly.

“Whatever,” Melissa tells her. “I caught two bad guys.”

“I caught the boss of your bad guys.” Spencer says. “I win.”

“I’m a professional at this,” Melissa retorts with a smile.

“It must be so embarrassing to be beaten by an amateur,” Spencer replies with a grin.

“I figured out it was Kenneth,” Melissa says. “Rhys only knew him as Mr. DiLaurentis, and Jason was the only one he’d ever met, so he put two and two together, and got six.”

“Rosewood math,” Spencer replies. 

“But I _would_ have picked him up,” Melissa says. 

“Still doesn’t count,” Spencer replies.

“It’s nice to see you girls getting along,” Veronica says, picking up the newspaper and heading out to the patio.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Spencer says, keeping her voice low.

“One thing?” Paige asks, taking a bite of scrambled eggs.

“How did Wilden blackmail you with a sex tape?” Spencer asks her sister. “If he was in it, wouldn’t he have wanted to avoid trouble for himself, too?”

Melissa blushes and doesn’t answer right away.

“What?” Spencer says. “Spill. It can’t be more shocking than Dad being Alison’s father, too.”

“The sex tape wasn’t me and Wilden,” Melissa confesses. “Just the idea of that makes me throw up a little in my mouth. But come on, Spencer. You know what it’s like, growing up in this family. We have high standards. It’s hard to find someone who’s right in all the right ways to maybe be a good match. It’s not easy! You got really lucky, finding Paige.”

“I know,” Spencer says. “But don’t change the subject.”

“It was a long time ago,” Melissa says. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Besides, you think you’re such a hot shot detective? You figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Alison asks, walking in with Charlotte and Emily and three large boxes of donuts in tow.

“Nothing,” Spencer says quickly.

“We’re sisters for real, now,” Alison says, putting an arm around Melissa’s shoulders. “Sisters don’t have secrets.”

“Uh-oh,” Charlotte says, surveying the scene. “I know that look.”

Melissa gives her the most glacial glare in her repertoire, but Charlotte remains unphased.

“You have sex tape face,” Charlotte tells her. 

“There’s a sex tape?” Alison says, a little eagerly. “Of _Melissa_? It this a welcome to the family present just for me?”

“What do you know about a sex tape?” Spencer asks suspiciously.

“I’ve only apologized about a million times,” Charlotte says. “I had a little trouble with right and wrong back then! But I got better!” 

“You mean -” Spencer says.

“Melissa,” Charlotte pleads. “You and I are always going to be the biggest bitches in town. Doesn’t that count for anything? So you got blackmailed into a sham marriage - you wound up joining the FBI and being a big hero, right? All’s well that ends well!”

“Are you serious?” Melissa asks. “After everything that’s happened? You’re crazy if you think for one second I would give you a second chance.”

“I am crazy,” Charlotte says, handing Melissa a donut. “Also? I hear that’s kind of your type.”

Alison laughs. “She has a point.”

“Get out of my house,” Melissa tells her, amiably. “Go suck face with Emily in the bushes or something.”

\------------

It’s not until the following afternoon that Kenneth DiLaurentis regains consciousness. He comes to and finds himself handcuffed to the rail of his hospital bed, hooked up to multiple IVs and nursing a severe chemical burn on the sole of his foot.

A hooded figure sits by his bed, flipping through a magazine.

“What happened?” he asks thickly. “I thought I was dead.”

The fuzzy outline of his visitor gets clearer.

“Charlotte?” he croaks, as if the name itself makes him want to choke.

“That’s right,” she says. “You’re a complete asshole. But you have to live with being rescued. By your daughter.”


	65. Endgame

**Six Months Later**

“Is it better than you imagined?” Emily asks Alison, as they stroll along the Champs-Elysees hand in hand.

“Paris in the springtime?” Alison asks. “Or being here with you?”

“Either,” Emily says with a shy smile. “Or both.”

“Part of me wishes we would have just run away here when we were fourteen,” Alison muses. “Even if we would have been street urchins or something.”

“You would have become a master pickpocket,” Emily teases.

“You’re thinking small,” Alison grins. “I would have found a way to break into the Louvre.”

“You still could,” Emily tells her. “You could probably do it in ten minutes or less.”

“Five,” Alison estimates. “But I wouldn’t have appreciated it like I do now. Some things are just worth the wait.”

“It’s true,” Emily agrees. “There’s nothing like waiting until your ex-husband and your ex-father are being sentenced to life without parole to make you glad to get away from it all.”

“I’m glad Wren, or Christopher, or whatever his name is - rolled on everyone,” Alison admits. “I was not looking forward to testifying.”

“And your mom’s case is finally closed, too,” Emily says, squeezing Alison’s hand. 

“Which is a relief, except for the part where I married her murderer,” Alison sighs. “He fell in love with her when he was giving Jason electroshock treatments? And then he killed her when she rejected him twenty years later? That’s a love story for the ages.”

“Not so much,” Emily agrees as they walk past the Arc de Triomphe. “But we still might be.”

“Might be?” Alison says, grabbing Emily by the lapels of her leather jacket and kissing her like it’s the first kiss of the rest of their lives.

\--------

They’re in line for a sunset boat ride on the Sienne when their phones chime at the same moment.

Emily feels herself tense automatically, before she looks at the screen and sees a text from Hanna.

\--------

Caleb is feeding Hanna ice cream while Ashley Marin rocks her granddaughter in the corner of the hospital room.

Mona, wearing a black shirt with purple sequins that spell out the words, “Fairy Godmother” puts her thumb in the baby’s tiny fist and feels the clasp of tiny perfect fingers.

“What’s her name?” Emily asks from the screen of Caleb’s open laptop. 

“Vanna,” Caleb tells them. “After that Dollhouse rescue, Hanna wanted to name her after Mona.”

“But I said she should be named after Hanna, of course,” Mona says, shaking a little tiny rattle at the sleeping baby. “So we compromised.”

“It suits her,” Ashley coos. 

“She’s going to have the _best_ fashion sense,” Mona predicts.

“Like Vanna White,” Hanna adds. “She’s been on television for a hundred years, and she never wears the same outfit twice.”

“True,” Mona enthuses. “And she’s such a good speller. Plus she has her own line of yarn.”

“And she looks like she’s forty,” Ashley adds. “Even at fifty eight.”

“Well, if she’s half as badass as her namesakes, look out world,” Alison says.

Aria walks in wearing a pink t-shirt that says, “Welcome!” in shiny bold letters. She runs a finger over the blond fuzz on the baby’s head and kisses Hanna on the cheek.

“These are for you,” she says to Hanna, setting down a bouquet of flowers. “And this is from my mom,” she adds, handing Ashley a small gift bag. 

Ashley lets Mona carry the baby back over to Hanna so she can pull off the tissue paper. “It’s perfect,” she laughs, pulling out a wine glass emblazoned with the words, “Grandma’s Sippy Cup.”

“Spencer and Paige are taking the train in tomorrow,” Hanna says, looking into her daughter’s big blue eyes. “I told them to bring champagne.”

“Have you seen Spencer’s ring yet?” Emily asks. 

“It’s as big as the baby,” Alison snarks.

“You propose to a Hastings, you need the right hardware,” Aria laughs. “Paige knows how it works.”

“Veronica says they’re making all the centerpieces themselves,” Ashley shudders. “If they can survive that, married life will be a breeze.”

“Where’s the wedding?” Caleb asks. “Have they decided yet?”

“Melissa’s letting them use the backyard,” Alison replies. 

“Because nothing says till death do us part like exchanging your vows over a shallow grave,” Spencer says from the doorway. She waves at Emily and Alison before bending over to look at the baby. “I know I said tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait another minute to meet her.”

“She’s a Viking,” Caleb says. “Just like her mother.”

Hanna beams with joy as she feels the weight of the sleeping baby in her arms, already surrounded by a huge crazy family of people who love her.

“I told you so,” Emily says to Alison as they close down the Skype window.

“Told me what,” Alison asks, taking Emily’s hand and leading her out to the balcony of their hotel room. The city of light is spread out in front of them, the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance.

Emily kisses Alison instead of answering.

“Okay,” Alison says when they break apart. “You were right. There is such a thing as a happy ending.”


	66. Where Does the Time Go

\-----------------

**_Five Years Forward - Labor Day Weekend_**

\-----------------

The Pennsylvania countryside flashes by outside the window of the train, as Hanna Marin studies the large red letter ‘A’ scrawled on the paper in her hand. She gives it back to Vanna with a smile. “That’s really good,” she says. She looks over at her husband, sitting across the crayon strewn tray table with their daughter. “I bet Daddy would help you draw an apple if you asked him. Or an alligator.”

Vanna pushes the paper over to Caleb, carefully selecting a purple crayon for the next phase of her project. 

“How about an alien?” he suggests, waggling his fingers on his head as if they’re antennae.

His daughter laughs as she shakes her head. “No,” she tells him. “Draw my aunts.” Caleb grins, and together they draw a small crowd of stick figures.

\---------

“Senator,” Spencer says urgently, striding through the halls of the Capitol Building, “We need to move on this now. Garza went way over her time at the EPA sit down.”

Spencer nods at the security guard as she holds the door open for her boss, checking her watch as she does so. 

“Your constituents,” she continues, as they hurry down the steps of the building towards the car, “will remember if we wind up being late to the party.”

“Relax, Spencer,” her mother replies, as Peter hops out of the passenger seat and opens the car door for them. “We’ll get there in plenty of time.”

“Well, if it isn’t the fearless feminist duo who are currently taking the beltway by storm,” Paige grins from the driver’s seat, tossing an issue of _Washington Monthly_ at Spencer. A picture of the two Hastings women graces the cover, over the tagline, “The New Matriarchal Majority.” 

\----------

Aria sits with her feet propped on the desk in the interior of a tiny office. Her heels rest next to a battered antique typewriter, casting a shadow against the drawn blinds. A half full bottle of Crown Royal whiskey is balanced on top of a bulging gray file cabinet, next to a pearl handled revolver.

“Change of plans,” she says into the phone at her ear. “There’s too much fog, nothing’s moving out here but the rats.”

She stands up and ties the belt of her trench coat. “Don’t worry! I grabbed a seat on the red eye. Flight number: Last Plane Out of Town.”

Aria adjusts the position of an ashtray on the desk. “It’s fine,” she says. “Jason and I had a good run, but it ran its course. You’re sweet to worry, but an old flame bringing a plus one isn’t going to put me in the negative.” She sets a vintage camera on the window sill, then stands back with a hand on her hip to gauge the effect.

“I have a fabulous date lined up, too,” she tells Emily, as she runs a finger over the glass pane in the door, tracing the words “Betty Fedora Investigations.” 

She strolls off the sound stage, her Production Designer id badge dangling from a bedazzled lanyard around her neck. “I’m taking myself.”

\----------

“Where’s Alison?” Hanna asks, flopping down on the sofa of the Hastings old house.

“She’s not here,” Spencer replies. “I think I heard a scream.”

“That was Melissa,” Jason says sheepishly, walking in from the kitchen. “I ate one of the canapes.”

\-----------

“That’s him,” Charlotte whispers, pointing to a bearded man with a video camera. “He’s filming everything.” 

Alison looks at him for a moment, then unfolds the flimsy drama club program she was given at the door.

Emily squeezes her hand as she leans over to Charlotte. “Did you do this?” she whispers. “Did you drop a piano on some other girl’s leg?”

“I would have,” Charlotte admits. “I _was_ thinking of starting a whisper campaign against that stuck up little Kaitlyn Lee - but I didn’t need to. Turns out Estella’s a good actress. Runs in the family, I guess.”

“Shhhh…” Alison says as the lights go down and the curtain swings open. She spends the next two hours eagerly watching her daughter sing and dance her way through the Coastal Middle School’s version of “Grease.” She commands the entire stage, never missing a line, never breaking character. Her long blonde hair is flawless, and when she smiles during the final curtain call, holding hands with her castmates and leading them in a somewhat ragged bow, Emily thinks the smile looks like Ali’s sometimes used to. A brash kind of softness, with a little bit of daring at the corners. She turns and sees that Alison is smiling that same smile now, with a coating of pure joy on top.

She’s in the middle of her childhood, Alison is thinking. And there’s nothing for her to be afraid of, except the clutzy kid playing Danny Zuko stepping on her feet. 

“We should go,” Alison says, resting her head on Emily’s shoulder. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

\------------

Spencer Hastings looks at the water outside her parents’ lake house. The world seems still and expectant, the lake reflecting the summer blue sky, the trees, and the white canopy tent rippling gently in the breeze. She looks over at the rows of white chairs near the dock, sees Caleb and Paige in their tuxedos showing guests to their seats.

A lone acoustic guitar finishes Pachelbel’s _Canon in D_ and an instrumental version of _Every Breath You Take_.

She smoothes her strapless purple dress, puts a hand on the back of her head to check the elaborate braided updo that Hanna labored over most of the morning. Hanna’s own hair is looking wind rumpled and gorgeous, and Aria is sporting a new purple streak in hers.

“Are you going to cry?” Spencer asks Melissa, who is standing next to her in an identical purple dress.

“Only if you set my hair on fire,” Melissa answers, gesturing at the torches in their hands. “I’m just saying - what’s wrong with candles?”

Spencer hears the guitar play the opening bars of _Can’t Help Falling in Love with You_ and feels a lump in her throat already. 

“You’re so gonna cry,” her sister says. She takes Spencer’s arm and jerks her head at Hanna and Aria to follow them. “Like herding cats,” Melissa says, shaking her head.

Spencer moves in synch with Melissa down the aisle, picking out a few familiar faces in the crowd. Dr. Sullivan is there, sitting next to Toby and his wife. Ashley Marin and Ella Montgomery are sitting with her parents. They reach the edge of the pier, near where the officiant is standing, resplendent in a form fitting lavender pencil dress and stylish white cape.

As she takes her position, Aria whispers out of the side of her mouth, “Mona is a minister now?”

“She got certified online,” Hanna explains, sotto voice.

“She’d make a really good cult leader,” Aria mutters. “The Church of the Vanderjesus.”

Vanna is making her way down the aisle, scattering rose petals enthusiastically as the Wedding March begins to play. She’s in an adorable white dress with a purple belt and tights, looking ladylike and elegant, despite a faint blue ring of cupcake frosting around her mouth.

Spencer fights to hold back a tear at the sight of Emily in a shiny gold dress, her face a mask of happiness. She’s walking in between Pam and Wayne Fields, both smiling proudly, Wayne in full dress uniform for the occasion.

Emily’s smile somehow gets wider as she walks past the other Liars, and her parents sit down in the first row of chairs. 

And now Jason and Charlotte are walking Alison down the aisle, and Hanna stifles a small chuckle as she see Ali elbow Jason in the ribs for crying.

“Charlotte looks really pretty today,” Spencer whispers to Melissa. And it’s true, she’s wearing a floaty lilac dress and a few ringlets of her blonde hair hang down just enough to frame her face, setting off her blue eyes and serenely happy expression. 

“Shut up,” Melissa hisses back.

“I counted three candy jars in the house yesterday,” Spencer says. “I don’t have to be a rising star at the Bureau to know how you feel about empty calories.”

Melissa tries to glare, but ends up smiling. “You always have to be on a case, don’t you?” 

And now Alison is walking past them in an elaborate gold dress the same shade as Emily’s. 

Aria thinks of how many years they’ve all been friends. How they finally seem to have made it back to a place where Alison can look so radiantly untroubled, so completely full of joy. 

“Dearly Beloved,” Mona begins, “We are gathered here today to join Alison and Emily in matrimony. Also, to harshly judge anyone wearing black pants with brown shoes - you know who you are!”

Hanna grins. She sees her husband, standing next to Spencer’s wife, lifting their daughter onto his shoulders for a good view. Vanna pulls some rose petals out of her pocket and puts them in his hair. She looks at the other Liars, at Alison and Emily holding hands while Mona talks about love being friendship that catches fire. She remembers what Spencer said before they left for college, about being lucky to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. They were even luckier, she realizes now. To be the kind of friends you never have to say goodbye to, the ones who’ve always been there and always will be, no matter what.

Spencer watches as Pam Fields, already wiping her eyes, gets up to speak.

“As you all know, Alison’s mother Jessica isn’t here to see this happy day. Although I like to think she knows about it, anyway. When Emily was still in high school--it seems like yesterday and also a million years ago now--I ran into Jessica at the grocery store. She was blocking the aisle with her cart while she looked over the organic produce.”

She dabs at her eyes as she continues. “And when she saw me, she told me she thought Emily was so courageous to have come out of the closet so young. She mentioned Emily’s feelings for Alison - no secret, even then - and asked me if I’d ever thought Alison could have felt the same. The honest answer was, well - who could tell what Alison was thinking back then? But I wanted to be polite, so I told her - it would be nice to think so, wouldn’t it? Jessica looked so wistful when I said that, and then she said, ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better person to love her than your daughter.’ I only wish that she were here today, so that I could tell her the feeling is mutual.” 

Spencer sees her own mother--a woman who regularly intimidates underlings, reporters, and lobbyists, and who still bristles sometimes if Jessica’s name comes up in conversation--furiously swiping a tear off her cheek.

Pam takes a deep breath and presses on. “Anyone who knows these two young women is aware that it hasn’t always been easy for them. Love is only easy in the movies - those romantic comedies the girls would watch in their pajamas during sleepovers. In real life, it’s something you have to fight for and work at and build on. Watching Emily and Alison do that over the years has been, like they say in the Army, an honor and a privilege. I could not ask for a better person to love Emily than Alison, or a better person to love Alison than Emily.”

Pam smiles hugely at her daughter and her soon to be daughter in law as she goes on. “When Emily was a little girl, her favorite bedtime stories always ended the same way. It was one of those endings that’s really the beginning of a new story, the one she and Alison are starting today: Happily Ever After.” 

Pam sits down, and Aria vainly tries to wipe away a tear before it makes her mascara run. She sees that Hanna is already crying. She must have planned to, Aria realizes, as it looks like all of her makeup is waterproof. 

Alison has the ring in her hand, and she’s looking at Emily in a way that makes every other person in the whole world invisible. “Emily Fields, I take you to be my wife. To have and to hold, to always tell the truth and stay by your side when things get hard. To love you with reason and promise, with peace and hope, with happiness, and all the encouragement that can be. For as long as we both shall live.”

Emily’s eyes are blazing as she slides a ring on Alison’s finger. Her voice has the faintest hint of her old shyness, even though it’s the new Emily speaking all decisive and strong. “Alison, I take you to be my wife. To have and to hold, to always tell the truth and to stay by your side when things get hard. Ali, I’ve been in love with you half my life. I promise to keep loving you all the rest of it. From this day forward. For as long as we both shall live.”

Mona puts her hand over theirs, beaming. “Then by power vested in me, I pronounce you joined in matrimony! You may kiss the bride! Whichever bride! Not that you’ve ever waited for permission before!”

Emily kisses Alison, who wraps a hand around her wife’s neck and kisses her back hard. 

The Liars and Melissa hoist their torches into a fiery arch for Emily and Alison to walk through hand in hand as the guitarist plays _Here Comes the Sun_. 

When they walk past, Spencer sees that Alison DiLaurentis - scratch that, _Fields_ \- the girl who hasn’t let herself be genuinely vulnerable to anyone outside her inner circle since puberty, has tears of joy streaming down her face.

\---------

There’s a full band at the reception in the tent, and Hanna watches Caleb dance while Vanna balances carefully on his feet. She sees Mona scolding Toby near the punch bowl, probably over his shoes. 

“Who’s the guitar guy?” Aria asks, subtly gesturing towards a dark haired guy with a well groomed beard and mustache making small talk with Jason and Bridget Wu. “He looks really familiar.”

“White tuxedo? Keeps staring at you?” Hanna asks, rolling her eyes. “I’m not setting you up with him again.”

“Again?” Aria says, confused.

“Who are we talking about?” Mona asks, gliding over with a glass of champagne in hand. She follows their gazes and nods significantly. “Philadelphia’s most eligible bachelor, noted philanthropist, _and_ reigning high score champion of the old Galaga game at Gino’s Pizza. Too bad you were so busy boinking our English teacher in high school, huh?”

Mona lays a hand on Hanna’s elbow. “Let’s go find that little munchkin of yours before Caleb lets her play Candyland with the Hastings again.” And with a swish of her white cape, she whisks Hanna away.

“Boinking?” Aria says to herself, sounding grossed out.

“If you insist,” her admirer says, with a wolfish smile that Aria suddenly recognizes. 

“Oh,” she says, flustered. “I-”

“Relax,” Noel Kahn says, “I was just hoping to ask you to dance.”

\------

“Do you really have a Tuesday night cigar club with Arianna Huffington and Michelle Obama?” Ella Montgomery asks Veronica curiously.

“What a ridiculous rumor,” Veronica replies. “We do yoga together. Michelle detests second hand smoke.”

\-------

Melissa stands next to Charlotte, sipping a raspberry martini. “Spencer called me out on the candy jars.”

“She always was the nosiest one,” Charlotte observes drily. “She missed the peasant dresses in the closet with you pantsuits?”

“And the extra toothbrush in the bathroom,” Melissa confirms. 

“That’s so sweet,” Charlotte says. “I almost forgot how cute it is when she tries to play detective.”

\-------

Emily feels drunk, even though she hasn’t made it anywhere near the bar. Every three steps someone else stops them to talk, to offer warm hugs and best wishes. Alison has just finished charming Emily’s boss, congratulating her on the most recent record setting year for Hollis’ swim team, when Paige McCullers approaches with two plates of food in hand.

“Spencer and I never got a chance to eat at our wedding,” she explains.

“I remember,” Alison says, taking a forkful of mashed potatoes. “A Hastings with low blood sugar in the middle of a wedding? You’re lucky there weren’t casualties.”

“I’m not sure there weren’t,” Paige replies. “The caterer who quit when Melissa complained about the thread count of the table linens? There could still be a body in that yard.”

\---------

“Alison mentioned you were in Los Angeles?” Noel says as Aria twirls towards him. 

Aria nods. “Mostly. I’m a production designer, so I go wherever the production needs me.”

“Sounds glamorous. But I thought you were a writer.”

“I sold my first screenplay two months ago.”

“Let me guess - it’s about four friends with a secret.”

Aria smiles at him. “Nope. A romantic thriller set in the fashion world. It’s called _Killer Wardrobe_.”

Noel smiles too. “You always did have one of those. I can’t wait to see it.”

“You’ll probably be the only guy in the theater.”

“Well, you know me,” he says, dipping her. “I like those odds.”

\----------

Hanna ruffles her daughter’s hair without interrupting the intense game of pattycake that Vanna is playing with Mona. “I’ll be right back,” she says, and Mona nods without missing a beat in her complicated series of hand motions.

Hanna walks over to Dr. Sullivan, who breaks away from a group of Rosewood High teachers to greet her.

“Hanna!” Dr. Sullivan exclaims, “I was hoping I might see you this weekend. Everyone I know in New York absolutely raves about your work these days.”

“I wanted to thank you for that bomb ass alumni recommendation you wrote,” Hanna says. “NYU had never accepted anyone from the Fashion Institute into their psych department before. I got a lot of weird looks, but it was worth it.”

“After everything you went through, wanting to become a therapist yourself is an absolute testament to your courage and resilience.”

“There are so many people who need help, you know?” Hanna says. “Wren and Dr. Rollins got people’s brains all twisted up like licorice. I like helping people get untangled. If someone could have done that for Mona, or Charlotte - the whole story could have been different.”

“We could always use more good guys,” Dr. Sullivan agrees with a smile. “And that program you developed to help young women work through body image issues - it’s already changing lives.”

“Speaking of changing lives - can I ask you about something?”

“Ah,” Dr. Sullivan responds. “When you enrolled there, I suspected you might learn more than what was covered in your coursework.” 

\----------

“Look at them,” Peter Hastings says, nodding towards Paige and Spencer slow dancing across the room. He looks around and sees Melissa and Charlotte laughing at whatever Jason has just said to Alison and Emily. “So happy.”

“They’re lucky,” Veronica replies. 

“I’m the lucky one,” her husband says seriously. “Lucky you put up with me all these years.”

“I do love you, Peter,” Veronica tells him, brushing an invisible piece of lint off the front of his suit. “Besides, the more people know about you, the more they compare me to Hillary.”

\----------

“I know you’re her chief of staff,” Paige says, her hands at Spencer’s waist as they dance. “But I have an idea that might boost your mom’s poll numbers.”

“I love a woman who talks politics in a tuxedo. Tell me.”

“Grandchildren,” Paige grins. “A baby Hastings should be worth a seven point bump. Nine, if you put her in a U Penn onesie.” 

“Seriously?” Spencer asks, watching as Caleb lets Vanna lick the frosting off his piece of wedding cake.

“I’m ready if you are.”

Spencer leans in for a long kiss. 

“Is that a yes?” Paige asks. “On starting a family?”

“It is,” Spencer nods. “And it’s a twelve point bump at least. I’ve polled on it.” 

\------------

“How did Ali get you to play at her wedding?” Aria asks. “Blackmail?”

“No,” Noel chuckles. “We’re friends. She asked. Are you disappointed?”

“Here I was, hoping you had a secret life. Playboy philanthropist by day, wedding guitarist by night.”

“Text me your address, I’ll play a serenade outside your window next time I’m in L.A.”

“I’m flattered. I’m sure you have a long list of models and actresses on speed dial.”

“None of them are half as interesting as you.”

“You’re lying,” Aria tells him. “You’re trying too hard.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Aria nods eagerly.

“When I was in seventh grade, I only wanted three things in the whole world. I wanted to get my braces off, I wanted to be Batman when I grew up, and I wanted to go out with you.”

“Do you still want to be Batman?” Aria asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Not really,” Noel says, looking serious for a moment. “After everything that happened - I’ve had enough of masks.”

\--------------

“I saw a picture,” Hanna says. “An old class photo In Meyer Hall. I recognized your cheekbones. And then I saw the name in the caption underneath.” 

Dr. Sullivan nods. “Things were very different back then. I tried very hard, for a long time, to be something I wasn’t. Until one day, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it for even one second longer.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hanna says. “I am so, so sorry that you got dragged into our mess, just for being good at your job.” 

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Dr. Sullivan insists. “I should have been strong enough to withstand their nonsense when they threatened me.”

“But you came back,” Hanna says, waving her arms in a way that makes her bracelets jangle. “No one would have believed us otherwise! And to go through what it must have been like back then - no one understood, look what happened to Charlotte! That’s like Viking level brave. We were lucky to have you in our corner.”

“As I’m sure your clients are lucky to have you in theirs, Hanna.”

“Your son,” Hanna says. “Does he know?”

“Of course,” Dr. Sullivan replies. “Noel is an exceptional young man. He’s always known I was once his father.”

\---------------

“Who are all these people?” Alison asks.

“I don’t know,” Emily smiles. “I thought you invited them.”

Ali catches sight of a small gap in the side of the tent behind them. She grabs Emily and pulls them both through, away from the party for a moment. The night air is warm, and the moon is rising over the lake. Emily has that amused look on her face like she’s about to say, “Alison, we can’t,” and then do whatever Alison wants anyway. 

Ali cuts her off with a kiss, slides her hand along the length of Emily’s dress. “I want a little time alone with my wife.” 

\----------------

“Where are the brides?” Spencer wonders. “If I had a dollar for every time Alison disappears-”

“You could fund your first campaign,” Paige agrees. “But she’s not being buried alive or getting arrested or faking her own kidnapping anymore. She’s got Emily now. She’s in it for the long haul.”

“Has anyone seen Mona?” Hanna asks, walking over to them.

“Try saying her name three times,” Spencer suggests. “Like Beetlejuice.”

“I’ll check the bar,” Paige offers. “I want to get my drink on while I still can.”

Hanna gives Spencer a look as Paige walks away. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Spencer grins. “It does. We’ll be calling you all the time for advice.”

Hanna pulls her into a warm hug. “Spence, by the time your kid is in first grade, she’ll probably have a grandma on the Supreme Court and a mom in the Senate. Name her something Presidential. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“Is this a group hug moment?” Aria asks. 

“You look just like my friend Aria,” Spencer quips. “But she’s had a bearded millionaire glued to her side all night.”

Aria’s cheeks turn pink. “We’re having dinner in L.A. next week. Real dinner. It’ll be a nice change. No one eats out there.”

“Hey,” Emily smiles, as she and Alison walk over hand in hand, ignoring Hanna’s smirk at their slightly rumpled hair. “The gang’s all here.”

The band is still playing, but they’re standing far enough away that the sudden simultaneous pinging of their cell phones - disturbingly familiar even after all this time - is clearly audible.

“No,” Spencer says, as she looks down to see a message from an unknown number.

“Get to the edge of the dock,” the Liars read in unison. “You five. No one else.”

They exchange a quick look, and then Alison leads them towards the loose tent flap and out into the night. Emily pushes Alison behind her as they approach the water. Hanna and Spencer scan the darkness, alert for danger. Aria brings up the rear, a hand on the back of Ali’s dress.

“No one’s here,” Alison announces, looking around. “Unless we’re about to be attacked by scuba ninjas.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Emily whispers.

“Over there,” Spencer says, pointing to three figures on the far shore.

“Please don’t let this be the part where something explodes,” Aria mutters.

Hanna smacks her lightly on the arm. “Did you not hear what Emily just said about jinxing us?”

Just then, the night explodes with light and sound. Fireworks are being launched, illuminating the faces of Mona, Charlotte and Melissa across the water.

The liars stand together in their fancy dresses at the edge of the pier, watching as the pyrotechnics send up a series of heart shapes. A number of short timed bursts follow, and the trailing arcs of the various fireworks come together to spell out a message.

“How do they do that?” Emily asks.

“They’re ‘A’ Team,” Spencer tells her. “They do six impossible things before breakfast.”

Emily wraps her arms around Alison from behind, resting her chin on her wife’s shoulder and feeling impossibly hopeful about the future. She’s dimly aware of other guests being drawn out of the tent by the noise, but mostly it feels just like it always used to, the five of them in a tight circle and the rest of the world outside. She and Alison gazed upward, flanked by Hanna, Spencer and Aria as they all stare at the letters scrawled across night sky:

_Just Married! Congratulations, Bitches!_

“It’s perfect,” Alison murmurs.

“It is,” Emily agrees, kissing her. “It’s our version of happily ever after.”


End file.
